A Stalking Shadow
by Clez
Summary: Something is terrorizing the crew of the Enterprise, and Trip is determined to find out why...
1. A Fresh New Face

1 CHAPTER 1;  
  
1.1 A FRESH NEW FACE  
  
  
  
This was the second day in a row he had worked a double shift, and it was starting to get to him… if only a little. His eyes weren't serving him as well as they used to, and his motor functions were slowing. He had been asked by the Captain to take a day off, and he was doing just that.  
  
Right after he finished these diagnostics.  
  
His team would think him weird, walking around in a shirt and jeans in Engineering… but this place was more than just a job to him… it was more like part of his personal space, and all these people just had daily invitations.  
  
He was running a diagnostic on t he warp core, and so far… his baby was looking just fine. She was running like clockwork.  
  
"Sir?" came a voice from behind him, and he turned to face Crewman Elizabeth Matheson… a young attractive woman, about the age of twenty- three.  
  
He grinned. "Hi. Can I help you, Crewman?"  
  
He loved being a Commander sometimes.  
  
"Um… I was just wondering what you were, um… oh, I know I wouldn't be able to do this!" She blushed, quite a lot. Her face was the shade of a cherry almost. Her pretty green eyes were alight with youth and curiousity. Her smile was infectious. Her short auburn hair was bobbing about her beautiful face ever so gracefully.  
  
Why didn't I notice her before?  
  
He leaned back against the section of warp core he had been analysing, careful not to press any buttons. "What are you trying to say?"  
  
He couldn't help but smile at her sweet attempts to say something that was obviously giving her a lot of trouble.  
  
She exhaled loudly, and stood up tall and straight. "I was wondering, Commander, if you were doing anything this evening. There… I said it."  
  
He smiled his most charming smile, and replied. "No, Crewman… I believe I'm off-duty this evening. Did you have something in mind?"  
  
She nodded. "I was thinking… we could have dinner together?"  
  
Dinner in the mess hall with a young attractive crewman? He didn't see anything bad about that scenario. He hadn't had dinner with anyone besides the Captain in a long while… unless you counted one Vulcan woman… and he didn't.  
  
"Well, shall we say, about nineteen-hundred?" she asked, cocking her head slightly to one side.  
  
"Suits me perfectly."  
  
She smiled. "Great. See you tonight then, sir."  
  
He nodded. "See ya' later."  
  
With that, she walked away from him, and back to her duties.  
  
Why had he never looked at Matheson that way before? She was sweet, sincere, brave -apparently- and hard working. She was also a very attractive young woman.  
  
He decided the diagnostics could wait a while.  
  
He decided to get back to his quarters as soon as possible, and think about the night that he had just arranged.  
  
He made his way towards the door, smiling quietly to himself as he did so.  
  
Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker had something to look forward to.  
  
  
  
Crewman Elizabeth Matheson walked back over to the station she had been working at, and sat down quietly, thinking to herself.  
  
She had actually plucked up enough courage to do what she had been thinking of doing for nearly two weeks.  
  
She had watched Commander Tucker walk around Engineering, looking so handsome, and had actually left it this long to ask him to dinner. How she had been able to resist him this long was an enigma, to even her… but she would have to leave thinking about that until later.  
  
She was so wrapped up in thinking about her date that she didn't even see the large shadow come up behind her.  
  
It grabbed her from behind before she could even scream.  
  
No one even noticed. 


	2. The Haunting Of Commander Tucker

CHAPTER 2;  
  
THE HAUNTING OF COMMANDER TUCKER  
  
  
  
He had been waiting over twenty minutes, and he was feeling more concerned than anything. When people were late on this ship, it usually wasn't butterflies.  
  
Trip looked around himself at the other people present. No one was even looking towards him, or even wondering why he was sitting all alone at an empty table.  
  
Where is she? he thought to himself, brow furrowing.  
  
Another ten minutes passed by quickly, and still there was no sign of Matheson. The concern grew.  
  
He stood from the table, and walked over to the comm panel at the side of the mess hall.  
  
"Commander Tucker to Crewman Matheson."  
  
He waited.  
  
There was silence.  
  
"Tucker to Matheson. Matheson, are you there?"  
  
Still, there was nothing but silence.  
  
"O-Kay," he mumbled to himself, "this is weird."  
  
It occurred to him then that perhaps someone had pulled a prank on him… they liked to do that sometimes. But this just wasn't funny. This was strange.  
  
He left the mess hall, and made his way to a turbo lift access. It opened when he pressed the call button, and he stepped inside.  
  
Within moments, he was on the bridge, and walking towards Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, who looked up to see him approaching.  
  
"Commander? I thought you had the day off," Reed said, sitting back a little in his chair.  
  
Trip looked behind him, for the first time noticing that the Captain was missing.  
  
He must be in his quarters, Trip realised, coming to a stop by Reed.  
  
At their stations, Ensigns Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather looked up momentarily. They glanced back to their work when Trip looked at them.  
  
"Do you know if anyone's heard anything from Crewman Matheson?" Trip asked, leaning with both hands on the station in front of him.  
  
Reed became suspicious. "Crewman Matheson? Sorry, Commander… I can't say I've heard of him."  
  
"It's a her," Trip corrected quickly. "I thought you knew just about everyone on Enterprise."  
  
"I do. Just not a Crewman Matheson. Are you sure you didn't imagine her, Commander?" Reed smiled.  
  
Trip did not.  
  
"I don't imagine people, Lieutenant. A simple 'no, sir' would have done me fine."  
  
With that, Trip walked away.  
  
  
  
Malcolm Reed knew he looked like someone had just thrown a bucket of water in his face. He had never seen Commander Tucker act that way… unless somebody had messed up big time… which he had not.  
  
Reed glanced over at Hoshi, who was looking right at him, her eyes narrowed in confusion.  
  
"What was all that about?" she asked, glancing momentarily down at Mayweather, who shrugged.  
  
Reed had finished his latest scans, so he stood, and -as the Captain had asked upon leaving- took command of the bridge. He seated himself in the large chair, and sighed.  
  
"I don't know what's wrong with Trip," he told the two, "but I hope he finds her. If not, I think we're all going to have to undergo one of the interrogations I just suffered." He said it with a light smile, hoping to alleviate some of the tension Commander Tucker had caused during his swift visit.  
  
Hoshi Sato sighed too, and continued with her work at the communications station, shaking her head ever so slightly at the strange scene that had just unfolded around her.  
  
  
  
Trip had made his way to the Captain's quarters and was now standing outside the door, waiting to be invited in.  
  
"Come in," came the polite voice of his commanding officer.  
  
Trip opened the door, and stepped inside.  
  
As he had thought, Captain Jonathan Archer had taken the remainder of the day off himself, and had exchanged his uniform for a sweatshirt and cargo pants.  
  
Trip waited to be addressed.  
  
"Hey, Trip. What's up? Enjoying your day off?" Jon smiled broadly, petting the young beagle, Porthos, happily. The young dog's tongue lolled as he jumped off the bed, and trotted up to Trip.  
  
Trip crouched down to Porthos, giving him an affectionate scratch behind the ear. "It's great. But, um… I was supposed to meet someone for dinner almost an hour ago, and there's still no trace of 'em."  
  
Jonathan Archer smiled, breaking off a small piece of cheese from the lump he held to get the dog off of Trip.  
  
Porthos quickly ran over to Jon, accepting the piece of cheese… the one food the Doctor had told Jon not to feed the dog.  
  
Trip smiled wanly.  
  
"Have you tried with Doctor Phlox? She might have come down with something. That's not so rare on Enterprise," Jon explained, picking up Porthos.  
  
The dog yawned, and curled up on Archer's lap.  
  
Trip smiled again. "I hadn't thought of that, Cap'n. Thanks."  
  
"Was that all? I'm thinking of hitting the sack like Porthos here." Jon indicated the dog, who was now snoring lightly.  
  
Trip gave a quiet laugh. "That was it, Jon. I'll see ya' tomorrow."  
  
  
  
Okay… now I'm really worried, he thought, upon leaving sickbay. Matheson hadn't so much as come near Dr. Phlox ever since their initial health checks.  
  
"Maybe I did imagine her asking me to dinner," Trip mused, frowning.  
  
The corridor was deserted, and he glanced at his watch. It was near to nine now, and if Matheson was just late, then Trip was now standing her up.  
  
He stopped by a comm panel one last time. "Commander Tucker to Crewman Matheson."  
  
Again, just like the last ten times he had tried, there was no reply.  
  
He sighed. "Oh well… maybe I'll see her tomorrow."  
  
There came a noise from the far end of the corridor, and he whirled, expecting to see someone approaching.  
  
Empty.  
  
"What the hell?" he muttered, hearing the noise again.  
  
It sounded almost like a laugh now that he listened, and it was slightly echoed in the corridor. But come to think of it, he had never heard a voice echo in these corridors before.  
  
He rounded the corner, just to see nothing there. But the laughter still sounded every now and then, seemingly drawing closer. The sound was menacing, and Trip admitted to himself that he was starting to get a little afraid.  
  
"Hello?" he called, looking around frantically, trying to identify the source of the sound.  
  
He felt something brush past his shoulder, and he turned immediately, becoming a little more panicked. He breathed more rapidly now.  
  
"Who's there? This isn't funny."  
  
The laughter sounded again, and it seemed as though the origin was right next to him, and it was being whispered down his ear.  
  
When he turned, he saw something that scared him more than anything he had ever seen before. 


	3. It Begins...

CHAPTER 3;  
  
IT BEGINS…  
  
  
  
Doctor Phlox was humming lightly to himself, running over the last of his tests for the day. Ensign Delaney had come to him complaining of stomach pains for the third day in a row, and after the young man had told him that the medicine he had prescribed was having no affect, Phlox had decided to run a few medical exams.  
  
It appeared that Ensign Delaney had a minor case of food poisoning. He would have to inform the Captain in the morning, considering it was now about the time Jonathan Archer liked to be alone… contemplate.  
  
Phlox ceased his humming when he thought he heard a noise… quite similar to that of someone calling 'Hello'. But he wasn't sure. So he listened again.  
  
Sure enough, someone was out in the corridor.  
  
He shrugged. Somebody was probably 'messing around' as they called it. Playing a prank.  
  
He began humming lightly to himself again, smiling, sighing contently, when he heard what seemed to be a scream, albeit a masculine one… but it was a scream nevertheless.  
  
That cannot be good, he thought instantly, rushing to the door, and to the adjacent corridor.  
  
He glanced to his left… nothing.  
  
To his right… there was something.  
  
"Commander Tucker?" Phlox said, moving slowly towards the curled up, trembling figure, who poked his head up from under his arms at the sound of his name.  
  
The man was shaking all over, and patches of sweat had appeared under his arms. His eyes were wide with shock and panic, and maybe even fright.  
  
What had happened to him?  
  
  
  
Captain Jonathan Archer had come running to sickbay as soon as Doctor Phlox had contacted him.  
  
There was something wrong with Trip, and when the Captain's best friend was involved, nothing would stand in the way… not even a Suliban attack.  
  
He was standing by the medical bed now, frowning considerably. He had suggested calling Sub-Commander T'Pol, but Trip wouldn't hear of it.  
  
He looked pretty shaken up by something… something he wasn't elaborating on much.  
  
"Trip?" Jon ventured, watching as his Chief Engineer looked slowly up at him.  
  
Trip swallowed dryly.  
  
"Are you alright? You haven't said a single word since Phlox found you cowering in the corridor. What in god's name happened to you?"  
  
Phlox was testing Trip for several things Jon couldn't even remember, so he just kept out of it, and let the good doctor continue uninterrupted, whilst he took it upon himself to question his Commander.  
  
Trip hesitated several times, before actually saying anything; "Well, I was lookin' for Crewman Matheson," he began, slowly, and quite quietly. It wasn't like Trip to be quiet.  
  
Jon nodded. That much he knew already. He motioned for Trip to continue… if he was comfortable to do so.  
  
"I came to see Doctor Phlox, and he said he hadn't seen her, so I left sickbay," Trip continued, giving a small shudder every few seconds. "I tried callin' her again on the comm, but I didn't get a reply. Then I started hearing somethin'… like laughter. It was all echoed… like it was coming from far away. It was eerie."  
  
Jon's brow furrowed. "Laughter? You heard laughter?"  
  
"That's not the worst of it, Cap'n… believe me." Trip looked more serious than Jonathan Archer had ever seen him in their long friendship.  
  
"I thought I heard the laughter next to me, so I turned…" Trip shuddered violently, and clamped his eyes shut for a moment before opening them up again quickly, "and it, it… it was her, Cap'n."  
  
"Her? Who do you mean, Trip?"  
  
"It was Matheson. But… but, she was dead. I mean… she'd been dead for a long time. She looked terrible… it scared the hell outta me… death always has."  
  
Jon sighed. He knew enough about Trip to know his fears… and death and dead bodies… especially human ones, was enough to send the Commander running to the hills. Well, almost. He seemed to be getting over it slowly, using his time aboard Enterprise as a kind of therapy for the fear. But now… it was all forgotten.  
  
"Trip… there's no dead body. There hasn't been, as far as I know," Jon told his friend.  
  
Phlox nodded in confirmation.  
  
"But, Cap'n, she wasn't just dead… she was decomposing. I mean… her skin was fallin' off when I was staring at her. She reached out to me, and her hands were like… just like bones… nothin' else." Trip shook again, and he brought his hands to his face, taking a couple of deep breaths to calm himself before he became hysteric.  
  
Jon didn't know what to do. He placed a gentle hand on Trip's shoulder, feeling he could nothing more than offer his friend comfort until he was ready to come up with more answers, more details.  
  
Trip looked up at him, and sighed.  
  
"What's happening to me, Jon?" 


	4. Afraid Of The Dark, Commander?

CHAPTER 4;  
  
AFRAID OF THE DARK, COMMANDER?  
  
  
  
T'Pol sat on the bridge, in the Captain's chair, awaiting the return of Jonathan Archer, and the news on what had been classed by the human as a 'private incident' involving Commander Tucker, quite possibly the most illogical form of life she had ever come across.  
  
She sat and thought… not something she allowed herself to do often. Usually she busied herself with important tasks, such as recalibrations, and diagnostics and such. But now, she just sat… and thought.  
  
I wonder what had transpired for the incident to be so 'private', she thought, her voice in her subconscious sounding monotonous and serious. If Commander Tucker has started to have episodes of some kind, then he should be returned to Earth, or kept off-duty in sickbay. He should not be allowed to return to his quarters, in case he has another one of these episodes.  
  
She ceased her thinking, which was causing her mind to wander from the task at hand.  
  
She glanced down at the back of Ensign Mayweather's head, and said, "Have you laid in the course adjustments I made, Ensign?"  
  
"Er…" the young officer hesitated.  
  
"Is there a problem, Ensign? Would you like me to rephrase the question into a simpler form?" she asked, cocking her head to one side slightly, even though the human did not glance back at her.  
  
Mayweather shook his head. "No, Sub-Commander. I was just thinking… maybe I should run this by Captain Archer first. Check his opinion on it?"  
  
"Captain Archer is not on this bridge at the moment, Ensign. Therefore, I am in command, and I find this course more logical than the one previously set by the Captain. If you have a problem, you can take it up with me." T'Pol shifted in the command chair slightly, looking down at Mayweather as he glanced back momentarily.  
  
"No, Sub-Commander. I don't have a problem," he said. He turned his attention back to the console, hands working swiftly at the controls, before he commented, "Course adjustment laid in."  
  
"Very good, Ensign."  
  
  
  
Jon had returned with Trip to his quarters, after Dr. Phlox had confirmed it was okay for him to leave the confines of sickbay.  
  
Trip had constantly been checking over his shoulder, hesitating at every corner, jumping at the sight of every single crewmember they came across.  
  
Jon was worried. What Trip had told him didn't make any sense. Nobody had died on Enterprise… that he knew of. Why should Trip have seen a dead body… one walking around, for that matter? It made no sense at all. He didn't know whether telling T'Pol about this would be a good idea. She would probably recommend Trip be relieved of his duties and packaged off to Starfleet Command to be psychoanalysed.  
  
Jon didn't want that to happen. Trip was fine where he was, and as long as this didn't affect his work, and that he got some sleep to boot, then everything would probably be fine again. Trip was probably just tired.  
  
Trip had seated himself on his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest almost immediately, seemingly curling himself up as small as he could manage without spraining something. He looked slightly uneasy again, like leaving sickbay had left him open to attack.  
  
He looked up at Jon with blue eyes, and shook his head. "I don't want T'Pol hearin' about this." There was conviction in his voice, and a certainty in his eyes, a certainty Jon had never seen before.  
  
He waited a moment before nodding. "Alright. I won't tell her anything."  
  
Trip nodded, although it seemed as if his mind had wandered momentarily, before he looked back suddenly. "Do you think I'm crazy?"  
  
Jon didn't have to think about this answer. "No, Trip," he told him sternly, sitting down at Trip's desk. "You're not crazy. You just need some sleep, is all."  
  
Trip sighed. "I hope you're right. I don't wanna see anything like that again."  
  
Trip, once more, shuddered slightly, as if he were cold, even though the temperature in the room had never fluctuated. Trip looked away from Jon suddenly, as though he were scared of his friend.  
  
Jon smiled slightly. "You can have another day off if you want."  
  
Trip looked to him almost as quickly as he'd looked away. "No," he said abruptly, then rephrased his reply, "No, Cap'n. I'm fine. I'll be okay after some sleep… just like you said."  
  
Jon was sceptical. "Are you sure? Because it's no problem. I can get Lieu-"  
  
"No, no." Then Trip smiled, a small expression that Jon had been starting to miss. He rarely saw Trip without a smile, or a grin of some kind. It was his friend's trademark. "I'll be in Engineering at o-seven- hundred. You can count on it, Jon."  
  
Jon had to laugh then at his friend's commitment. Trip was the kind of man who didn't let anything go without a fight, even work. There was nothing pressing in Engineering that needed Trip's attention right now, but if the Commander wanted to be there, then there was nothing Jon could do to stop him. Even if he told him 'no', Trip would still show up in his uniform, rearing to go at o-seven-hundred hours sharp… as usual.  
  
  
  
Once Jon had left, Trip had made himself ready for bed. He sat on his bed for a while, covers drawn back ready for him to climb into, but instead… he just stared at the door, as though he awaited someone's arrival.  
  
He shivered, but was not cold. He always wore his shorts and sleeveless vest for bed, and that couldn't be the explanation for his sudden shiver. He must have just had someone walking over his grave.  
  
Don't think that! He realised short after that telling himself what not to think sounded a little crazy in itself.  
  
He smiled as he realised just what he thought he had seen that day, and lay back in his bed, pulling the covers over his body.  
  
Trip lay there a while… listening intently to every tiny noise that echoed through the bulkheads and corridors outside. He heard two crewmembers talking as they passed, but nothing more.  
  
He could hear no laughter now… see no monstrous apparitions. He could not, however, shake the tingling feeling that had settled over him some time ago.  
  
He had not been afraid of the dark since the tender young age of four, his father having told him that no monsters hid in closets or underneath beds, that nothing stalked in the shadows.  
  
But for the first time in years, Charles Tucker slept with the lights on. 


	5. A.W.O.L.

CHAPTER 5;  
  
A.W.O.L.  
  
  
  
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was more tired than he thought was possible. He was heading back to his quarters after a long hard day's work at the tactical station on the bridge… where he had done nothing but run scans all day. Nothing had happened… again.  
  
It was now close to midnight, and he was finding that it was a task to keep his eyes open. He would welcome a good night's sleep.  
  
He heard a low noise from behind him, and he spun on his booted heels, glancing in all directions to try and locate the source of the noise, which had now disappeared entirely, as though it were never even there.  
  
Hmm, he thought, maybe I imagined it.  
  
He shrugged lightly, yawned, and turned to go back the way he had been heading, humming a quiet tune to himself.  
  
He heard the noise once again. He whirled, and his eyes went wide.  
  
"Oh shi-"  
  
  
  
Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker woke up bright and early the next morning, his lights still on, as he had left them the night before. He had, in truth, only managed a few hours sleep, but felt wide awake, finding more sleep impossible to even think about.  
  
He stretched refreshingly, and yawned slightly. He crawled out from under the covers, wiping the remnants of sleep from his eyes.  
  
He quickly dressed himself, and glanced at the time. It was five- thirty. He frowned, brow furrowing. It seemed later than that, so late in fact that he had originally thought upon waking that he was going to be late for his shift.  
  
Oh well. Time for a little breakfast, he thought with a slight smile, wondering what there was on offer this morning.  
  
He made his way to the mess hall after leaving his quarters, and turning off the lights that had been on all night long.  
  
He ran a hand through his hair, realising he hadn't made as much of an effort to tidy it this morning. It didn't actually bother him that much right now, for some reason. He shrugged it off, and carried on his way.  
  
He arrived at the mess hall after the brisk walk and turbolift ride, surprised to see quite a number of officers already eating breakfast.  
  
He walked over to one of the small cabinets, opening it to find scrambled eggs.  
  
He removed it, walking over to a table after fetching some coffee, seating himself alone.  
  
He wasn't alone for long.  
  
"Hi, Commander. Mind if I join you?"  
  
Trip looked up to see Ensign Cutler, her pretty face wearing a friendly smile as usual, her dark blonde hair bobbing gracefully around her jaw.  
  
He shook his head, giving her a smile of his own. "Sure. I don't mind. I could use the company."  
  
Cutler laughed quietly, sitting opposite him, a small plate of toast and jam in her hand. She too had a steaming coffee.  
  
Trip finished his eggs, and pushed the plate aside. "So…" he began, not quite sure what to say to the Ensign, "how are you?"  
  
She smiled again, playing with the crust of her toast. "I'm great. Dr. Phlox is teaching me about the insect life on his home world. How about you?"  
  
He nodded, a little more vigorously than he had intended. "I'm good. Heck, I've got an hour 'til my shift starts. I've not usually up this early with only a few hours sleep. I was always the kid who slept in durin' high school and college."  
  
Cutler laughed. "I know what you mean. My brother was always sleeping the day away. I, on the other hand, was always up to watch the sun rise."  
  
Trip cocked his head inquisitively. "Really? Sunrises must seem kinda dull to you now, then, huh?"  
  
"Are you kidding?" she asked, her voice gentle and welcoming. "Each one is different. I kinda miss them all the way out here though." She sighed, her smile falling a little as she glanced longingly out of the window.  
  
Trip felt a little sorry for Cutler. She was the friendliest officer on this ship, and she was generally overlooked by most people who didn't work with her. Cutler had even tried to befriend T'Pol on one of their earlier missions, and Trip had advised her against it, as it was usually useless to try and get through to the Vulcan science officer.  
  
Cutler looked back to him, her smile having returned.  
  
Trip sighed, and decided to ask what had been running through his mind since the Ensign had sat down opposite him; "Do you know a Crewman Matheson?"  
  
Cutler looked deep in thought for a few moments, before she shook her head in genuine denial. "I don't think I've met them before, sir."  
  
Trip nodded. Maybe I should make sure the person actually exists before I accept any dinner invitations, he thought with another sigh.  
  
  
  
Porthos had woken Jonathan Archer from slumber with three shrill barks, and a pine. He wanted a walk… as usual.  
  
Jon had now been awake for twenty minutes, having taken a short shower and gotten himself dressed in slacks and T-shirt. He would change into his uniform once he got back from taking Porthos out for a short stroll round the ship.  
  
For some reason Porthos was more at home on Enterprise than he had been in San Francisco. He loved to just trot around after Jon through the corridors, and he got excited every time he rode in a turbolift.  
  
He wasn't too keen on the sickbay though. The last time he had visited Phlox, he had had to have a jab in the scruff of the neck.  
  
That should have taught Jon to keep away the cheddar.  
  
It hadn't. Porthos had already had two small pieces this morning, in the short span of time Jon had been awake.  
  
"Okay, buddy," he said to the beagle, "let's go."  
  
Porthos barked happily, but after Jon put a finger to his lips, he quickly silenced his excitement.  
  
Jon stepped out of his quarters, and was followed shortly after by the happy-go-lucky dog.  
  
They were soon walking down random corridors, just enjoying the easy- going exercise. Porthos had stopped to sniff a couple of bulkheads along the way, but when he stopped altogether, Jon turned back to him.  
  
"Porthos?" he said, curious as to what had the young dog so fascinated.  
  
He heard footsteps from around the corner, and when he turned his head, he saw Trip emerge around the bend.  
  
"Hey, Cap'n. Takin' Porthos for a walk?" the Chief Engineer wondered, stopping by the side of the Captain, who was still looking at Porthos.  
  
"Yeah. Feeling better?" Jon returned, not looking back at his Commander.  
  
Porthos was staring intently at a small section of the bulkhead, his brown-eyed gaze switching briefly, and then let out a loud, sad pine.  
  
That worried Jon. Porthos was never usually upset like this. Something had the little dog troubled.  
  
Jon walked over, followed closely by Trip, and they both crouched down to the dog's level.  
  
"What's the matter with him?" Trip inquired, giving Porthos a gentle scratch behind the ear.  
  
"I'm not sure. Something's got him troubled." Jon scooped the dog up, and began making a mild fuss over him. "There, there, boy. It's okay. What's wrong with you this morning, hey?"  
  
"Er… Jon?" cam the sound of Trip's worried voice, as the Commander stared at where Porthos had been fixed.  
  
"What it is?" Jon asked, not looking, petting his dog instead.  
  
Trip touched his fingers to the bulkhead lightly, bringing them away crimson with blood. 


	6. Facing Reality

CHAPTER 6;  
  
FACING REALITY  
  
  
  
Trip was on edge, shifting on his booted feet beside Archer, staring around sickbay, awaiting Dr. Phlox's comments. Porthos sat on the floor between them, pining, staring with liquid brown eyes up at Trip, who glanced down at the animal, sighing. If Porthos had not been present, would they still have detected the blood?  
  
Trip didn't like to think about it. This whole situation was strange enough without wondering what the blood was all about.  
  
Dr. Phlox looked up from his analysis of the blood, and sighed heavily. The alien doctor looked troubled. He stood from the desk, and paced over to the Captain and Commander.  
  
"It is human blood, Captain, and it is quite fresh," Phlox informed them, a grave expression on his toned face.  
  
Trip frowned. "Is it Crewman Matheson?" Trip could only come to the conclusion that it did belong to the young crewman. What else would explain it, or the woman's disappearance?  
  
Archer seemed to be in agreement that that could be the only explanation for the blood his dog had discovered.  
  
Phlox sighed. "I have examined the blood, and come to a conclusion of it's origin…" he trailed off, rather ominously.  
  
Archer swallowed dryly. "So… who does it belong to?" His voice was urgent, his tone insistent.  
  
Trip glanced from Archer to Phlox, desperate to find out the answer to his friend's question that was just about to be provided.  
  
"The blood does not belong to Crewman Matheson," Phlox told them.  
  
Trip felt himself sigh. Good, he thought, at least she's not hurt.  
  
"It belongs to Lieutenant Reed."  
  
  
  
Ensign Hoshi Sato was terrified. She had received the information that the blood Porthos had discovered belonged to Malcolm… her friend Malcolm. She could barely contain her fright as she sat trembling at her comm station. She took a deep calming -or what she had intended to be calming- breath, and demanded that her eyes focus properly. They obeyed.  
  
"Is everything okay, Ensign?" she heard Archer ask, and she looked in his direction as he paced behind Travis.  
  
She hesitated, and then decided that -as her grandmother had always told her- honesty was the best policy. She shook her head.  
  
"No, sir, I'm not," she said with a quaky voice.  
  
Archer sighed, and nodded. "I know what you mean, Hoshi. Take a break. We'll call you if we need you."  
  
Hoshi nodded gratefully. "Thank you, sir. I'll be okay."  
  
Archer nodded, dismissing her.  
  
Hoshi stood from her station, and left the bridge, walking into the turbolift.  
  
She stood, arms crossed, against the side of the lift, and breathed heavily.  
  
She felt her throat begin to close up, and her eyes filled with tears.  
  
"Don't," she told herself sternly, trying to stand up straight, "don't cry."  
  
It was no good.  
  
A single tear fell down her face, and then another. Before long, she was crying freely, although quietly.  
  
She felt the lift coming to a stop, and tried to use her sleeve to wipe away the tears, without much success as more tumbled down her cheeks.  
  
The doors opened, displaying Commander Tucker.  
  
"Hoshi? Hoshi, are you okay?" he asked in his thick Southern accent that she always found so refreshing and charming.  
  
Finding words so difficult all of a sudden, she sniffed and shook her head, looking at Commander Tucker with her tear-filled green eyes.  
  
Trip moved into the lift with her, and took her in his arms, embracing her gently for comfort, comfort she found welcoming.  
  
"It'll be okay. We'll find Malcolm… don't worry." Trip looked down at her, releasing her from the embracing hug. He tried to look into her eyes, but she averted her gaze, feeling ashamed she had allowed him to see her cry. He was a superior officer, and she couldn't help but feel silly, and childish.  
  
"What if we don't find him?" she asked with a choked voice, wiping her eyes with her sleeve once again, with more success as she managed to calm herself an acceptable amount.  
  
Trip didn't seem to have considered this perspective, and suddenly lost his optimism. His brow furrowed in worry, and his shoulders slumped. He shoved his hands roughly into his pockets, and shrugged.  
  
"We'll just have to hope we do find him." 


	7. Contemplative Minds

CHAPTER 7;  
  
CONTEMPLATIVE MINDS  
  
  
  
Trip had walked with Hoshi to the mess hall, and was now sitting with her whilst she drank her coffee and calmed down as much as she felt she could, under the circumstances.  
  
Trip too had a coffee, but was mostly leaving it to sit on the table. For the while, he had no intention of drinking the liquid. He had just gotten it as an excuse to stay with the scared and upset Ensign that sat opposite him now, her hands wrapped tightly around the mug.  
  
Hoshi didn't deserve this… no one did. Trip wanted nothing more than to solve this terrifying mystery, before anybody else got hurt or went missing.  
  
Damn this whole situation, he shouted inside, clenching his fist, and then relaxing it quickly before Hoshi noticed and asked the Commander what was wrong. He wanted to find Matheson, and Reed, to know they were safe. He wished he could just see the two of them walking into the mess hall right now, laughing and joking with each other.  
  
He wished this were all a prank. He would appreciate that much more than ghosts, disappearances and blood. He would probably even bring himself to smile again.  
  
Trip had noticed the way people looked at him today, the way they seemed to notice his telltale smile had vanished from his features, the way he didn't greet them all. He was a little wary to talk to anyone, considering two of the people he had actually spoken to had now gone missing without a trace… except the blood.  
  
The blood.  
  
He shuddered slightly. The thought of the blood sent a shiver down his spine that threatened to throw his whole brave façade off completely, reducing him to a cowering man in the corner… like Phlox had found him the previous night.  
  
He was a little ashamed of that incident. The sight of Crewman Matheson standing before him, just dead, had terrified him on a level he hadn't even known existed.  
  
But he realised he shouldn't be ashamed to feel fright. Hoshi was frightened right now, and she was handling the fact that Trip had seen that fright quite well. She did seem a little quieter than usual though.  
  
Everything was different.  
  
Everything was wrong.  
  
  
  
Porthos sat on the floor of his master's quarters, and sighed a heavy sigh. None of this made sense to the little dog, and he was well aware that he was showing it to the humans, and the woman with pointy ears. If they didn't notice, then he wasn't pining enough.  
  
He pined once, long and loud, and let his master know of his depression.  
  
The man looked down at him with a sympathetic frown, and tossed a small lump of cheese onto Porthos' blanket.  
  
Porthos ignored it.  
  
The dog cocked his head to one side on his forelegs, which were stretched out in front of him, and sighed again. He wasn't interested in cheese… he wanted to know about this sticky substance he had found on the wall. It had smelled strange, and the scent was what had enticed him… held his attention fixed to that particular point.  
  
It had also scared him. He had seen that substance before, and knew it did not mean good news… his master had exhibited it before on a couple of occassions.  
  
He had heard the name 'Reed' mentioned in the conversation the humans had had with the strange looking Doctor in the surgery room, and he recognised it as the name they called the man who usually ran around with guns. Whenever his master spoke to Porthos, he always called Reed his 'armoury officer', whatever that meant.  
  
Porthos let out a small pine again, and curled up in a tiny ball, much like he had in a basket with his mother when he had been very young. He was frightened.  
  
There was something here… in his home.  
  
And it wasn't friendly. 


	8. A Monstrous Apparition

CHAPTER 8;  
  
A MONSTROUS APPARITION  
  
  
  
After having walked Hoshi back to her quarters, Trip had decided it was about time to get some rest as well. Hoshi had contacted Captain Archer to tell him she was not going to be reporting back for duty that evening. He had said he understood, and from the tone of his voice, Trip had believed the statement. Jon could rarely lie well in the presence of his friend.  
  
It was now about nine o'clock, and Hoshi had yawned constantly for about half an hour before Trip had managed to persuade her to actually go to her quarters for some much needed rest. She had reluctantly obeyed, before he had resorted to actually ordering her.  
  
Trip often forgot he was Commander of the Enterprise, under T'Pol. He disliked the fact that her Vulcan command overruled his own human rank aboard the vessel, which put him third in command, instead of second. T'Pol had not initially been intending to stay onboard, but she had requested to remain on Enterprise. He had an idea that Archer had asked her to stay. He wasn't going to think about it though. Even if he didn't like it… it was none of his business, which under normal circumstances with Jon wouldn't make any difference whatsoever. But he didn't want to stick his nose in when Vulcans were involved.  
  
He rounded another corner, and sighed heavily, followed by a discreet yawn. He nodded to a passing crewman who had acknowledged his authority, and carried on his way.  
  
As he walked, the matter at hand wandered back into his troubled mind, throwing him once again into confusion. He didn't understand, and hated, what was going on around him. What had caused Matheson and Reed to disappear like they had? What had happened to cause Reed to become injured, thus explaining the presence of blood? Where were they? Why couldn't they contact them? Why had he seen Matheson as a dead body? Were they dead?  
  
Too many questions, he thought angrily, not enough goddamn answers! Where the hell are you when I need you, Malcolm?  
  
He rounded another corner, and stopped short.  
  
"Malcolm?" Trip managed after a couple of moments, staring at the figure who stood about twenty feet down the corridor. Reed was standing completely still, his head turned downwards, his eyes fixed on the point where Trip and Archer had found the blood earlier that day. What was Reed doing?  
  
"Reed?" Trip ventured again, moving forward, cocking his head at the strange behaviour of his friend, who had been missing.  
  
Reed did not move.  
  
Trip became confused again, and edged forward another couple of feet, stopping about two metres from Reed's position.  
  
Reed continued to stare. His head was completely turned towards the wall, whereas his body was faced towards Trip, so that the left side of his head and face was obscured from Trip's vision.  
  
"Lieutenant?" Trip said, louder than before, hoping this time to catch Reed's attention. "Malcolm? What are you doin'?"  
  
Reed seemed to cock his head slightly, as though he had heard Trip, but was choosing to ignore him.  
  
"Malcolm, what happened to you? We were worried. Where have you been?"  
  
Trip watched as Reed began turning his head in his direction.  
  
Well, at least I know he's not dead, he thought.  
  
Reed turned his head completely towards Trip.  
  
"Oh my god!" Trip exclaimed loudly, taking a startled step backwards.  
  
Most of the left side of Reed's face was missing… completely gone, torn away.  
  
It made Trip want to gag.  
  
Reed made a step towards him, raising a hand to reach at Trip.  
  
Trip screamed, his voice full of terror as he tried to step backwards and away from the mutilated Reed. Trip stumbled, and fell backwards, landing hard on his back, knocking the wind out of his body. He scrambled backwards as Reed continued to move towards him, single hand outstretched, as if to grab hold of Trip.  
  
"Get away from me! Help!" Trip cried, and managed to scramble to his feet once again, slipping slightly on the smooth ground, and then heading off at a dead run down the corridor, away from Reed.  
  
He just kept running.  
  
  
  
Eventually he was able to run no more, his legs succumbing to exhaustion, his lungs burning, his whole body aching.  
  
He collapsed to the ground, on his hands and knees, breathing heavy through what felt like a shrinking windpipe. He cast a tentative glance over his shoulder.  
  
Reed… no, it wasn't Reed… it couldn't have been. Whatever it had been was following him no longer.  
  
Trip was certain he had passed a couple of other crewmembers as he ran, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything any more.  
  
He was sure he was going to be sick though. Just remembering the bloody sight of 'Reed' made him want to vomit.  
  
He gagged, but refused to allow himself to be physically ill… not here.  
  
He needed to get out of the corridors… that thing had to be right behind him.  
  
He pushed himself up, to his feet, which ached like he had never known them to, and began walking swiftly to the nearest escape. His breathing was ragged, forced, and his vision was blurring. He closed his eyes momentarily, and rubbed them with his hand, attempting to focus them again. When he once again opened his eyes, his vision was no better for his attempt, so he just kept moving.  
  
He pulled himself along the walls with his hands, and glanced back over his shoulder every now and then to check he was alone.  
  
When he reached the intersection though, he moved no further, and collapsed into unconsciousness on the ground. 


	9. A Bad Experience

CHAPTER 9;  
  
A BAD EXPERIENCE  
  
  
  
"What the hell was that?" Ensign Travis Mayweather asked himself when he heard a loud cry, and the sound of feet running from around the corner. He poked his head round the bend, only to see that there was no one there.  
  
"Weird," he mumbled to himself, and moved on round the corner, looking about himself, curious as to what the racket had all been about.  
  
As he was pondering the mystery, there came the sound of several people exclaiming something, causing Travis to become interested, and jog in their general direction.  
  
He arrived to find at least four crewmembers -two ensigns and two crewmen- staring in the opposite direction, as if something had raced past in a perplexing manner.  
  
"What happened?" Travis asked them, his voice displaying his youthful curiousity and confusion.  
  
And Ensign looked to him, one whose name Travis thought was Benson, and replied, "It was Commander Tucker. He just… ran past. Nearly bowled me over too. I don't know what was wrong with him… he looked terrified." Benson glanced over Travis' shoulder to see if something was behind him, and indeed there wasn't. "It was weird."  
  
I should think it was! The thought worried Travis, and he turned to Benson, and asked, "Which way did he go?"  
  
"Just down there. I think he turned right after that. From there… who knows?" Benson replied, shrugging.  
  
"Thanks," Travis said quietly, nodding to Benson, and taking off at a run in the direction pointed out to him, confusion overtaking him. What had got Trip running scared?  
  
Travis kept going; looking round each corner, noticing that there was at least one confused crewmember on the route Trip had obviously taken.  
  
And then he turned the last corner.  
  
"Trip? Oh my god," Travis mumbled, seeing the unconscious form of the Commander at an intersection ahead.  
  
He ran swiftly down the corridor, stopping briefly at a comm panel to alert Doctor Phlox to the situation. He knelt down next to Trip, and felt his neck for a pulse. It was erratic, and the Commander's breathing was rapid, as though he were fighting for air.  
  
Travis wanted to shake Trip; to see if he would wake, but thought against it, in case it could make matters worse. He just waited by the unconscious Commander until Doctor Phlox, Captain Archer and Sub-Commander T'Pol arrived. In his hands, Archer had a lightweight stretcher.  
  
After them came two crewmen, who seemed to resemble rabbits in headlights, scared witless.  
  
"I just found him lying here," Travis reported, seeing the worried look in Captain Archer's gentle eyes. "Ensign Benson told me he had been running from something. I don't know what."  
  
"It would appear that Commander Tucker has had another of your so called 'episodes', Captain," T'Pol said dryly, her voice calm and collected.  
  
Archer's head snapped in her direction, his eyes narrowed. "Do you have to comment on every little thing?" It wasn't a question to be answered, and it appeared T'Pol realised this, as she kept her mouth firmly closed, her hands clasped loosely behind her back.  
  
The two crewmen aided Doctor Phlox in getting Trip onto the stretcher after he had said it was safe to do so. He, like Travis, had checked Trip's pulse, and after a sigh, had nodded to the two crewmen, who had taken the stretcher off the Captain.  
  
After securing Trip to the stretcher, Phlox told the crewmen to take him to sickbay. They obeyed without question, with the Doctor in tow.  
  
Archer followed close behind, T'Pol and Travis bringing up the rear.  
  
Travis had noticed the look of fear on Trip's face, even in unconsciousness, and that look had worried him.  
  
He wished someone would tell him what was going on here.  
  
  
  
Jonathan Archer stood in sickbay with T'Pol and Mayweather, both of who he had permitted to remain, only because they had seen Trip's condition already. It was unnecessary to order them back to their posts at this point in time. Their services were not desperately needed on the bridge. Mayweather had been relieved for the rest of the night anyway.  
  
Jon couldn't get his head around what was going on. He had explained the events up until this point to the two other bridge officers, and after a few useless comments from a certain Vulcan, he had told them to stay close, in case something else happened.  
  
"Can you wake him, Doctor?" Jon asked Phlox, who was staring at a panel near to Trip's biobed.  
  
Phlox looked back at him with shocking blue eyes, and cocked his head to one side in thought, and then nodded. "I believe so. I'm not quite sure what Mr. Tucker's immediate reaction will be, so it might be advisable to stay back for a moment."  
  
Jon nodded, even if he didn't like it. He too didn't know what Trip was going to do upon regaining consciousness, and it was a good idea to stay a safe distance away.  
  
Phlox injected something into Trip's neck, and then moved back.  
  
Trip woke almost instantly, and just as quickly shot up form the bed, almost falling off it, and clutched his head tightly, closing his eyes.  
  
"Trip? It's me, Jon. You're okay," Jon said, moving forward tentatively.  
  
Trip looked up at him, a look of sheer terror in his blue eyes, and shot off the bed, cowering in the corner. "Get away from me!" he yelled, his voice weak and full of child-like fright.  
  
He covered his head, his fingers twining in his hair, his breathing rapid, and seemingly forced. It was heavy, and Jon could hear it cut through the silence like a knife.  
  
"Trip… don't be frightened. Tell me what happened to you," Jon said softly, moving up to Trip, lowering himself to his friend's level.  
  
Trip did not look up from his position on the floor, his head tucked into his knees, his hands over his head, legs curled up near to his chest.  
  
He looked like a child, frightened for his life.  
  
Jon couldn't help but feel for Trip, his friend long before they had joined the Enterprise crew. He had been through more than one scrape with this man before, and he was going to help his through this one too.  
  
But as he moved even closer, Trip lashed out at him, barely missing him, causing Jon to fall back onto the ground, looking up at Phlox with an exasperated look of shock on his face.  
  
Trip got off the floor, and moved away quickly, hiding in another corner.  
  
With a heavy sigh, Jon picked himself off the floor, and moved over to Phlox. "What's happened to him?"  
  
"All I can think of is that the Commander went through something so terrifying that it had affected him on some major level."  
  
T'Pol moved up to the two of them, casting a glance over her shoulder at Trip. "Will he recover?"  
  
Phlox looked over to the far corner at the cowering Commander.  
  
"I don't know." 


	10. Making Slow Progress

CHAPTER 10;  
  
MAKING SLOW PROGRESS  
  
  
  
T'Pol stared discreetly at the terrified figure crouched into a ball in the corner, and cocked her head. This was a fascinating display of human behaviour, and she wanted to take note of it… but something was holding her back from doing so.  
  
She had a respect for Commander Tucker, and she didn't feel that documenting his obviously frightening experience and reporting it to the Vulcan High Command was the best way to show that respect.  
  
She allowed herself a small quiet sigh, and turned her attention back to Captain Archer as he turned to address her.  
  
"What do you think we should do?" he asked her, casting a worried glance over at the other human.  
  
She thought this over for a moment, and then replied, "I am not certain. I have never known of anything like this to happen before, Captain."  
  
Archer looked slightly annoyed by the reply, but chose not to act on that emotion, as he continued, "Well, we have to find out what happened to him, or we'll never know how to help him."  
  
"Maybe he cannot be helped," T'Pol commented, her hands clasped loosely behind her back.  
  
This time, Archer chose to act on his emotions. "How can you say that? He's helped you when you were in trouble, now it's time for you to return the favour."  
  
T'Pol inclined her head slightly. "I was only stating facts, Captain. It is a logical possibility that Commander Tucker will never rec-"  
  
"I don't wanna hear it, Sub-Commander, you understand?" He did not allow her time to respond as he added, "I want you to get on the investigation right away. Find out whatever you can, and report back here to me as soon as you do."  
  
"Yes, Captain," she said calmly, and walked away and out of sickbay without looking back.  
  
  
  
Jonathan Archer couldn't believe T'Pol sometimes. Trip could be in real danger, and she was stating useless facts that nobody wanted to hear, least of all the Captain.  
  
If there was a way to help Trip, then Jon would find it. He wasn't going to let something like this tear his friend apart.  
  
He turned his gaze to Mayweather, and said, "Ensign, could you do me a favour?"  
  
"Of course, sir," replied the young officer, nodding his dark head.  
  
Jon smiled ever so slightly, and continued with his personal request, "Could you go to my quarters and fetch Porthos. I have a feeling he'll be able to help Trip somehow."  
  
Jon glanced over at Phlox, who smiled and nodded. "That's a good idea, Captain. I hadn't thought of that. The animal could provide a calming affect."  
  
Jon nodded to Mayweather, who smiled.  
  
"I'll be right back, Captain."  
  
With that, Mayweather left sickbay.  
  
Jon looked down into the corner where Trip was cowering, and walked over, keeping a safe distance, having learned the hard way that getting too close was not a good idea.  
  
"Trip?" he ventured, crouching onto the floor, lowering his head to try and look into his friend's eyes.  
  
Trip did not look up.  
  
Phlox came up behind him. "Captain, may I make a suggestion?"  
  
Without looking up, Jon said, "Sure."  
  
"Commander Tucker's real name is not Trip, correct?"  
  
"Of course not. It's short for 'The Third'," Jon replied, seeing no point in this inquiry.  
  
"Then may I suggest you try using the Commander's real name? It may provoke a response in him… especially if he has reverted to somewhat a child-like state of mind."  
  
Jon nodded, and looked up at Phlox. "That's a good idea. Thank you, Doctor."  
  
"Anytime, Captain," Phlox said, and walked away again.  
  
Jon gave a small sigh, and looked back to his friend. "Charles?"  
  
Trip moved slightly, as though he were considering looking up from his hiding place.  
  
One more try, Jon thought.  
  
"Charlie?"  
  
This time, albeit slowly and warily, Trip looked up at Jon.  
  
"Jon?"  
  
Jon allowed himself a momentary smile, before he continued, "Yeah, Charlie, it's me, Jon."  
  
Trip swallowed dryly, and looked all around sickbay, as though his eyes were searching for something dangerous.  
  
"What are you looking for?"  
  
Trip looked him in the eyes, and Jon could see the terror there.  
  
"I saw him," Trip said, his voice trembling.  
  
Jon's brow furrowed. "Saw who, Charlie? Who did you see?"  
  
Avoiding Jon's gaze, Trip replied, "Malcolm. I saw Malcolm."  
  
Jon couldn't suppress the surprise. Why was Trip scared about seeing Reed? "Where was he, Charlie? Where did you see Malcolm?"  
  
"He was in the corridor, staring…" Trip's voice trailed off.  
  
"What was he staring at?"  
  
Trip looked at him then, as he said, "The place where we found the blood. I called to him, and he didn't speak to me, and then… he, he…"  
  
Apparently, Trip was having trouble finishing the sentence.  
  
"Charlie? Tell me what happened. It'll be okay," Jon said to him gently.  
  
After a deep breath, Trip replied, "He looked at me."  
  
Jon was puzzled. What's so scary about Malcolm looking at him? he thought.  
  
"He looked at me, and," Trip hesitated, looking over at Dr. Phlox briefly, "and half of his face was gone." Trip's voice caught on the last word, and he buried his head again.  
  
"Gone, what do you mean gone?" Jon asked, needing the answers desperately.  
  
Trip didn't look up straight away, but when he did his face was pale, perspiration clear on his forehead. "I mean gone, Jon. It looked like somethin' had torn it away… he looked dead, like Matheson. He reached out to me like a zombie."  
  
Jon placed a soothing hand on Trip's knee, as his friend once more buried his head like a frightened child… and with good reason.  
  
Just imagining what Trip had seen made a chill rise up Jon's spine, as he rose off the floor, leaving Trip alone for the time being.  
  
The door opened, and in trotted Porthos, moving right over to the cowering Trip, as if the young dog had sensed the Commander's need for comfort.  
  
"Is he okay, sir?" Mayweather asked, pausing in the doorway, as though he were afraid to enter.  
  
"I'm not sure. He saw Malcolm… dead." 


	11. Not Just The Imagination...

CHAPTER 11;  
  
NOT JUST THE IMAGINATION…  
  
  
  
T'Pol made her way slowly back to the bridge, thinking over the situation at hand. The Commander had seen something that had terrified him to the point of silence, and cowering in the corner, like a human child. Whatever that something was, she was determined to find out. She needed to find out, to tell the Captain, and get this whole situation sorted out.  
  
Two of Enterprise's officers were already missing, and there was no guarantee that another one would not disappear as well. She just needed to find out what was happening to them. They couldn't be dead… it was not logical. Who, or what, could be killing them, if they were dead… which she doubted.  
  
Something inside of her shuddered slightly, and she felt the small pull of a psychic force of some kind. Vulcans had to meditate extensively for years to accomplish psychic powers, and now hers were acting up. There was something here… close.  
  
She turned slowly, and caught a glimpse of something disappearing around the corner she had just rounded.  
  
T'Pol walked back in that direction, and stopped as she saw what must be causing the disappearances.  
  
  
  
Charlie sat on the floor of the sickbay, and petted the dog sitting next to him. He stroked its soft fur gently, as though he were afraid of harming the small animal, and looked around warily.  
  
Charlie remembered a time when he was little when he had watched a horror movie with one of his cousins. He had put on a brave face until his cousin left, and then had gone running up to his bedroom, covered his head with his bedcovers, and stayed there for quite a while, shivering. He couldn't remember what the movie was about now, but he knew it had almost scared him to death.  
  
Death.  
  
Charlie shuddered. That was what he was afraid of now. He had never really been able to deal with the deaths of people close to him… his friends. Some would say that a job in space exploration was a bad idea, considering aliens always had a tendency to blow things up, and shoot people.  
  
He sighed heavily, and looked over at the Doctor, who was standing far away, at the other side of the room.  
  
This wasn't right… his friends couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible… someone would have found… their bodies, by now.  
  
No… his friends were not dead… no way.  
  
He took in a deep breath, and stopped his body from shaking, running a hand through his ruffled hair.  
  
Taking in another deep breath of resolve, he pushed his way off of the floor.  
  
Trip walked out of the door, without looking back.  
  
  
  
Doctor Phlox turned as soon as he heard the doors open. Commander Tucker was leaving sickbay, Porthos, the dog, close behind him, tail wagging. If he had had the chance, Phlox would have stopped him, run a few tests. But Commander Tucker seemed to be somewhat cured.  
  
The look on the human's face was one of bravery, courage, and perhaps determination. Apparently, he had found himself again, and with him, he had found the courage to get off of the floor, and leave the sickbay. Either that or he was possessed.  
  
Doctor Phlox wouldn't rule that out just yet.  
  
  
  
Captain Archer sat in his chair on the bridge, waiting… waiting for anything.  
  
He didn't have to wait long.  
  
He turned at the sound of the turbolift opening, and felt his jaw drop at who stood there in the opening.  
  
Trip walked out of the turbolift, and straight over to Archer.  
  
"Trip?"  
  
Trip nodded, and scooped up the dog off of the floor, handing him over to the Captain. Jon accepted the young animal, a little stunned, but otherwise overjoyed that his Commander was back to normal… more or less. There was a look in Trip's eye, on of determination. Jon knew the look well. Whenever there was problem Trip knew he could solve, he would get that look in his eye, and would not stop trying until the problem was solved.  
  
"Did you see T'Pol on your way up here, by any chance?" Jon asked, clearing his throat, sitting up straight in his chair.  
  
Hoshi and Mayweather watched the interaction with interest. Mayweather was smiling, if only slightly, and Hoshi looked quite shocked.  
  
Trip shook his head confidently. "No. Not a sign. Why?"  
  
"Because I called her up here over twenty minutes ago, and we all know Vulcans aren't famous for their tardiness. Especially when given a direct order."  
  
Trip's brow furrowed, and he glanced over at Hoshi, then down at Mayweather. "That's odd. Do you think something could have happened to her?"  
  
Jonathan Archer cocked his head, glancing at the viewscreen, which showed nothing but stars, twinkling in the constant black of space.  
  
"I'm not going to rule it out, but I want to be sure she's actually missing before I do anything. Hoshi, see if you can reach her through the comm."  
  
Hoshi nodded, and pressed a button on her console. "Bridge to Sub- Commander T'Pol."  
  
There was no response.  
  
"Bridge to T'Pol, please respond."  
  
Again, there was silence.  
  
"Okay… I think it's a safe bet that something strange is going on here. Far too many of my officers have disappeared for this to be a coincidence. That, on top of what Trip saw, is enough to convince me that something is going on aboard my ship. And I'm going to find out what, and fast."  
  
Trip nodded.  
  
"I'm here to help, Cap'n." 


	12. Dropping Like Flies

CHAPTER 12;  
  
DROPPING LIKE FLIES  
  
  
  
They had come to the definite conclusion that something had indeed happened to T'Pol. They had checked her quarters, the mess hall, and other places T'Pol liked to go to meditate, or get some peace and quiet.  
  
"What do ya' think happened to her?" Trip asked, as he and Captain Archer, accompanied by two security personnel walked back on their way to the bridge.  
  
Archer sighed, glancing sidelong at his Commander, and shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the disappearances of Matheson and Reed. It's too much of a coincidence. Especially aboard this ship."  
  
Trip nodded in unmistakable agreement, and sighed as well. "Do you think we'll ever have a normal day aboard Enterprise?"  
  
Archer laughed quietly, as though he worried about disturbing someone… or something. "I don't think you should get your hopes up, Trip."  
  
Trip gave him a ghost of a smile.  
  
They reached the bridge, and found that the night shift had taken over. Hoshi remained, but Travis had gone off to get some much needed rest, and dinner probably.  
  
Trip and Archer headed on straight through the bridge to Archer's ready room. Archer seated himself heavily, restlessly, on the chair just inside the door, whilst Trip settled for leaning up against the wall behind him, arms crossed over his chest. He looked deeply pensive.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts?" Archer ventured, raising an eyebrow at his third in command.  
  
Trip looked up, a little surprised by the Captain's disturbance of his thoughts. He shrugged. "I was just thinkin' about the things I saw. They don't make much sense… yet they do, which is real confusing."  
  
Archer nodded, and leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees, knitting his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands.  
  
"For one thing, there was no sign that Matheson had been injured, but when I saw… her 'ghost', she looked as though she had been. She had bruises on her face, neck, and hands."  
  
Archer knotted his brows in confusion, and urged Trip to continue.  
  
"Well then there's Malcolm. When I saw him, he had half his face missin', but the blood that we found doesn't prove that that could be possible. We only found a little, not enough to solidify that theory. Somethin's goin' on here, Cap'n."  
  
Clearly Trip had gotten over his encounters completely. He looked much more confident now.  
  
"I agree," Archer said, and stood, pacing, as was his habit.  
  
"So we have to search the ship, see if we can find some clues as to their location," Trip said, pushing off the wall with one hand, looking Archer in the eye.  
  
"I'm behind you on this one Trip, but we need to think this over a little bit first," Archer said.  
  
"What's there to think about, Cap'n?"  
  
Archer looked back at Trip, and sighed. "We have to do this the old fashioned way. We have to ask people the last time they say Matheson and Reed. T'Pol too. From there we can figure out a perimeter search."  
  
Trip nodded after a couple of moments, succumbing to sense and reason.  
  
He just hoped they got to them in time.  
  
  
  
Travis Mayweather strode down the corridor on the way to the mess hall, yawning a little, tired after a hard, and strange day's work. The recent events had him more than a little spooked, and he found himself looking constantly over his shoulder to check he was alone.  
  
A couple of crewmembers passed by him in the corridors, and he was grateful for their presence at this late hour. He didn't think he scared so easily.  
  
Mayweather thought he heard footsteps behind him, and slowed to talk to whoever it was behind him. The corridor seemed darker somehow, and he would be glad of the company, but when he stopped, the footsteps also did, as if they were never there.  
  
The young Ensign shook his head. It had been a long shift. He must have been imagining it. As he started off again, the footsteps started again, but there was something wrong about them. Not footsteps, lighter, and more of them.  
  
He looked swiftly behind him, his eyes searching the darkness behind him. Darkness? When had that happened?  
  
He hurried on his way, a slight flutter in his chest. He should have been nearing the mess hall, about one hundred metres away from the door, but he wasn't recognising any landmarks. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the padding, yes, definitely padding, once again, and whirled.  
  
He wasn't too keen on predatory animals, his parents had told him about them, and he'd seen pictures and decided he definitely didn't like them. He had been like that ever since he could remember, and wasn't about to change his mind about such things.  
  
He stared long and hard down the corridor, half expecting some large carnivorous beast to pad around the corner, and lunge for him, teeth bared, ready for the kill.  
  
He saw nothing. Absolutely nothing.  
  
He was being silly. This was a spaceship. What could possibly be on here?  
  
Sighing a heavy, exhausted sigh, he turned back to go the other way.  
  
There in front of him in the corridor he thought he saw two points of light, like from a mirrored surface, bright yellow.  
  
And just as suddenly as they appeared, they faded out of existence, in the blink of an eye.  
  
Mayweather screamed, and turned and ran. His legs carried him faster than he thought possible, and his lungs began to burn as he ran, hell bent on escaping the… whatever, that was ready to tear him apart, devour him, its claws ripping… teeth clashing.  
  
Mayweather was panicking now, running in random directions through pitch black corridors.  
  
He rounded a corner, and something leapt out at him, eyes flashing, razor fangs bared. 


	13. Follow The Leader

CHAPTER 13;  
  
FOLLOW THE LEADER  
  
"Have you been able to pick anything up on internal sensors?" Archer asked of Trip, who now sat at Reed's station, considering its regular occupant was missing.  
  
Trip shook his head, and glanced up at the Captain. "No, sir."  
  
"Nothing at all?" he said, desperate for anything resembling as clue to their ship wide mystery.  
  
They had discovered not long ago that Travis Mayweather had also gone missing, and the fact was more than a little disturbing. It was haunting, disturbing, and terrifying. and Archer didn't mind admitting that to himself.  
  
Porthos pined on the floor, and pawed at Archer's chair, looking up at him with deep brown eyes. It seemed that even the little dog was somewhat scared.  
  
"Okay, boy, come here," Archer mumbled, and leaned over the armrest, scooping the beagle off of the floor, and laying him on his lap. He began to stroke him, giving the small animal some comfort.  
  
Trip smiled slightly, then glanced over at Hoshi, sighing. She was the only other senior officer left, and they could do with her help in this situation. Her ear was amazing, and if anyone could pick anything up in this mystery, it was Hoshi Sato.  
  
"Have you made sure everyone knows to travel in pairs?" Archer asked Hoshi, looking at her, brow furrowed in curiousity. He stroked Porthos constantly, as if the animal brought him comfort, instead of vice versa.  
  
"Yes, Captain. Everyone has been informed, and they know that travelling alone is unsafe right now. There's even someone keeping near Chef."  
  
"That's good to hear," Archer said, "I don't want anyone going missing. I need to find the ones that are missing. not find that more have disappeared. Is everyone else accounted for, Trip?"  
  
"Yes, sir. Everyone else is accounted for, and they've all been told to. well, I suppose you could call it sign in, and out of duty."  
  
"Good. The next thing we have to do is start rooming people together. people who don't already bunk with someone that is. That includes you two," Archer said, indicating Hoshi and Trip with a nod.  
  
They nodded.  
  
"Hoshi, you'll go with Samson, her cabin is on E deck, port side."  
  
"Aye, sir." She nodded once again, keying something into her console.  
  
"And Trip, I hop you don't mind my company that much?"  
  
"I take it I'm sharing quarters with you then?" Trip said, but a smile failed him this time.  
  
"That's right. I hope Porthos' snoring doesn't wake you," Archer quipped, patting the dog on the head.  
  
The young dog had fallen asleep.  
  
* * *  
  
The night was passing slowly, and Trip found himself staring blankly at the ceiling, in deep concentration. This whole situation had him puzzled.  
  
The ceiling was, as it had always been, bare, blank, and dull. Nothing marred its grey metal surface, but he found himself transfixed by it nevertheless.  
  
Porthos slept by his side on his makeshift bed on the floor, near to the Captain's bed, and the dog breathed lightly, his sides expanding and contracting, over and over again. Trip had his hand laid on Porthos' back, just to keep himself comforted in the somewhat strange environment. It wasn't strange as in Trip had never been in there before. It was the fact that he had never slept there before that had him thrown. Porthos provided a little comfort in that field, and the small beagle was doing a damned good job.  
  
But suddenly, the little dog jolted awake, tearing Trip's attention from the ceiling, and causing him to yank his hand back in surprise. He leaned up on one elbow, looking down at the dog as it stared off into nothingness, in the middle of the room.  
  
He pined, quietly, and tucked his tail underneath him, between his legs, a sign of submission. The dog's ears sank, and his head lowered, and finally, he scampered off into the corner, where his basket was situated.  
  
Trip sat up in the blankets, pulling them off of himself, and glanced over at Jon, who slept soundly. Apparently, Jon was more than used to Porthos making noise in the night.  
  
Trip stared with a furrowed brow over at where Porthos had fled, and cocked his head slightly. The dog was curled up into a small, shaking ball, and he pined quietly, again and again.  
  
"Hey, little buddy, what's the matter?" Trip whispered, knowing the dog would still be able to hear his voice clearly.  
  
Porthos did not even react.  
  
That's a little worrying, Trip thought to himself, looking back at where Porthos had been staring.  
  
He gulped down the cry of panic, and calmed himself, even though his breathing sped up slightly, and his hands shook.  
  
The image of Travis Mayweather began to fade out of the door, like a ghost from the movies passing unfazed through a wall.  
  
Trip found himself compelled to follow, and he grabbed his clothes, hurriedly put them on, picked up his boots as quietly as possible, and snuck out of the door, all without waking his Captain.  
  
Out in the corridor, he found the image of Travis Mayweather waiting for him, vacant eyes glancing back at him without interest. There was no expression on the young Ensign's face, and his stood somewhat slumped, as though it was exhausting to just stand before the Commander.  
  
Trip snapped on his boots, and stared defiantly back at the apparition.  
  
"What do you want from me?" he asked of it, his voice quiet, gentle.  
  
The apparition mouthed silent words, and turned, making a slow journey down the corridor away from Commander Tucker.  
  
Steeling himself for anything that could happen, Trip followed some distance behind the apparition, cocking his head this way and that, wondering what it was leading him towards.  
  
It had occurred to him that whatever this something was could be dangerous, but he had a vague impression that it would also lead him to answers, and possibly, the missing crewmen.  
  
The ghostly figure continued slowly on its way, leading Trip this way and that, down this corridor, then that one, round one bend after another, until the Chief Engineer found himself more than a little lost. He was ashamed of that fact, considering he did know this ship like the back of his hands no more than three hours ago. But as he glanced about, nothing was familiar to him, no consoles, panels, or doorways. It just seemed to be a never-ending corridor, fading off into darkness.  
  
But the darkness receded as he neared it, and a door appeared. 


	14. A Rock Overturned

CHAPTER 14;  
  
A ROCK OVERTURNED  
  
The door was appealing to him somehow, but he wasn't sure why. Something was attracting him to it, even though he wasn't even sure he recognised it as part of Enterprise. He wasn't even certain he was actually awake, and not dreaming.  
  
With a deep intake of breath, and an uncertain glance at the apparition, he pressed the door's opening button, and watched as the opening was presented to him.  
  
He found himself a little frightened once again, but swallowed hard, forcing the fear back down, and entered the doorway.  
  
The room appeared cavernous, and he stared around at walls that stretched on forever, a ceiling that seemed endless, and a floor that looked as though it were about to collapse out from under him.  
  
The room was just about pitch black, or as close to it as Trip though it could get without impeding his vision completely.  
  
Where was he? And why?  
  
A rumbling sound came from behind him, then to his side, and then from above. It echoed all around, rattling through him, causing his skull to tingle slightly. It was almost painful.  
  
He gasped lightly, and let his blue eyes scan the darkness for any signs of movement.  
  
"Hello?" he called out quietly, praying for an answer of any kind.  
  
He was greeted by a cacophony of voices that sent a jolt of pain through his head. He let a cry escape his throat, and he clutched his head, and winced, clenching his teeth against the agony the voices created in his skull.  
  
The words were scrambled, and made no sense to him.  
  
He tried to call out to the darkness again, but it felt as if he had never really known how to speak at all, and the attempt failed. He panted hard, and turned this way and that, searching for the door he had entered through.  
  
It was gone.  
  
A sound came from behind him, and seemed to carry on up the wall, accompanied by something resembling a growl.  
  
Was there an animal in here somewhere?  
  
No. the only animals on board were Porthos, and the Doctor's lab creatures. There should be nothing large enough to make these sounds he was hearing.  
  
There was a heat in the room that caused him to perspire, and made his tousled hair cling to his head. He ran a hand through it, feeling the moisture in it.  
  
When he brought his hand back to his side, he realised the moisture was warm, sticky in its feel.  
  
He rubbed his fingers and thumb together, and frowned at the texture and thickness of the substance.  
  
He smelt it, wrinkling his nose at the scent.  
  
It was blood. And it had dripped on him from somewhere.  
  
He looked up, and saw a sudden glint of something sharp.  
  
The darkness seemed to lift, if only slightly, and just in time for him to realise something was dropping off of the ceiling towards him rapidly.  
  
He threw himself to the side, and rolled away from the objects landing area.  
  
He heard the light thud that was the result of the landing. but the sound was far too quiet for an object that had previously seemed so large.  
  
He saw in the dim light that had mysteriously appeared a towering form, one that was threatening and ominous in its presence.  
  
Before he had time to react, something lashed out at him, striking him hard in his side. He felt something give, and let out an agonised cry as he was sent backwards swiftly, coming into firm contact with one of the walls.  
  
Real darkness enveloped him before he even hit the floor.  
  
* * *  
  
Porthos uncurled from his tight ball, and glanced over timidly at the area where the bad feeling had started. It was gone now though. as was his master's good friend, the one who had needed his comfort many times lately.  
  
He pined another quiet pine, and looked up at his master, cocking his head. How could he still be asleep when the bad thing had been in this very room? It was baffling to the small dog, and he couldn't understand it one bit. and that frustrated him.  
  
He padded silently over to the blankets where his troubled friend had been laying, and let his tail droop. He was gone alright. just like that. disappeared.  
  
Just like the bad thing.  
  
Without hesitation, or a care as to whether his master would lose sleep, he began barking loudly, calling as much attention to himself as possible. 


	15. A Step In The Wrong Direction

CHAPTER 15;  
  
A STEP IN THE WRONG DIRECTION  
  
  
  
"Porthos, stop it! It's not even four o'clock!" Jon protested, slapping a pillow over his head, and closing his tired eyes once again, even as the young dog continued to bark loudly.  
  
Surely not even Trip could sleep through this. Jon supposed he should tend to the needs of his pet before the din affected his Commander.  
  
Archer removed the pillow from his head, and threw back the covers, sitting upright in his bed.  
  
Just as he was about to call the dog to him, he realised what may have caused the animal to start its barking in the first place. Trip was gone.  
  
"Trip?" he called out, slapping on the lights. It was then that he realised the Commander's clothes were also gone. Maybe he had gone to start his shift early. or get something to eat.  
  
Archer leaned over to his communications panel, and pressed the button. "Archer to Tucker."  
  
Jon waited for several moments. but nothing happened.  
  
"Dammit!"  
  
* * *  
  
He forced his aching eyes to open against the dim light, and gasped in pain almost immediately, lying on his stomach on the hard ground, the bursts of blinding agony shooting through his right side.  
  
He groaned painfully, and tried to move, but failed miserably in the attempt.  
  
"Commander?" came a timid voice, as something resembling a shadow moved on hands and knees towards him.  
  
He looked through eyes that refused to focus at what turned out to be one Crewman Elizabeth Matheson, alive and well. apart from the bruises that marred her face and neck.  
  
He rolled over roughly onto his back, and groaned again.  
  
"Let me see him," came another female voice, one that he definitely recognised as none other than T'Pol.  
  
"T'Pol?" he croaked, holding a hand to his throbbing side.  
  
"Yes, Commander, it is me," came her reply, voice calm, as usual.  
  
"Where are we?" he asked with a weak voice filled with pain.  
  
"I am not sure. I do not recognise our surroundings. But I feel it is an illusion, meant to throw us off our guard, so we will not figure out a means of escape." As ever, T'Pol had the answer to everything, but on this occasion, it was more of a comfort to Trip than an annoyance.  
  
He cried out loudly as T'Pol pressed a palm to his right side.  
  
"I believe you have one or more broken ribs, Commander. It is essential we get you to sickbay," T'Pol told him, and he could make out her face now, even through the haze of pain.  
  
"You don't say. but just how do we get out of here?" Trip asked, and tried defiantly to rise from the ground. He managed to sit up, and slump back against the solid wall behind him.  
  
"We can't find a way out at all, sir," Matheson reported, and it seemed as though she was handling it all very well.  
  
"Where are Reed and Mayweather?" Trip queried, taking deep burning breaths, looking around the room slowly, taking in his surroundings.  
  
"They are near the back wall, Commander. They are both still unconscious," T'Pol informed him.  
  
"Perfect," he mumbled, and it seemed as though no one had heard him. "What was that thing that attacked me?" He looked to T'Pol for his answer, figuring she would know more about it than Matheson, even though she had been imprisoned here the longest.  
  
"I believe it is an alien life form, approximately fourteen feet in height, and eighteen feet in length. I have also come to the conclusion that it had psychic abilities, which led me to discover its presence in the first place," T'Pol said, glancing about, as though she were afraid of being spied on.  
  
"Psychic?"  
  
"Yes. Vulcans have limited psychic ability, but we do not display it much around humans. I believe this alien relies on psychic energies somehow."  
  
"What makes you think. think that?" Trip asked, wincing briefly as the pain in his right side returned when he moved slightly.  
  
Matheson frowned.  
  
"I am not sure. But I have observed that it merely sits, fixated on us for some time, and then it merely leaves again. We could not see how it escaped this room, only that it had indeed left," T'Pol replied, kneeling before him.  
  
Trip glanced about the room, for the first time noticing the unconscious forms of Reed and Mayweather, feeling a sigh of relief escape him at realising they were alive.  
  
"Is it here now?" He looked back to the Vulcan Sub-Commander, gritting his teeth against the feeling in his side as it rose up again.  
  
"It is not. It left shortly after it attacked you."  
  
Trip began crawling over to Reed and Mayweather. "Are they okay?"  
  
"Lieutenant Reed has a mild concussion, and an injury to the side of the head from a result of a blow, confirming our suspicions about the presence of his blood in the corridor. Ensign Mayweather is just in a state of shock. I believe he will be fine."  
  
"Good," Trip managed through the agony. He let out a long breath, and closed his eyes tight to try and suppress it. After a short while, it faded once again.  
  
"Commander, you should refrain from moving. Too much aggravation could only result in the worsening of your condition. It would be wise for you to lay down again, and remain still," T'Pol advised, moving over to him, her face serious as always.  
  
"No," Trip protested simply, "we have to figure out how to get out of here, or at least get a message to Jon. He has to know where we are." 


	16. Awareness

CHAPTER 16;  
  
AWARENESS  
  
  
  
T'Pol could no longer feel the psychic presence of the alien being, and she was grateful for that. The alien discomforted her, and made her uncomfortable in a way she had never felt. She just wondered when it was going to return, and what it was doing now. out in the corridors of Enterprise.  
  
Commander Tucker was sitting up against the wall near to the unconscious Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Mayweather. Both showed no signs of regaining consciousness, and that troubled T'Pol, especially since Reed had a head injury. Another crewman who needed to see Doctor Phlox as soon as possible.  
  
Matheson was knelt close to the three men, glancing over at them occasionally, showing the human emotion that was known as concern. Matheson had shown this more than any other human T'Pol had met in a long while. since Jonathan Archer anyway. No one T'Pol knew had more compassion and emotional strength than the Captain.  
  
T'Pol knew that if anyone could help them, Captain Archer would be that person, without a doubt. if they couldn't help themselves that was, which she sincerely hoped they could.  
  
She glanced sideways over at Commander Tucker, and sighed as he closed his eyes for long periods of time. The pain was most probably increasing over time, and he felt the urge to sleep.  
  
T'Pol had insisted to the Commander that he remain awake, and not succumb to sleep, no matter how tempting it may seem.  
  
Just then, she picked up a noise from behind her, where the two unconscious forms lay, and she turned, looking down as Ensign Travis Mayweather as he stirred.  
  
She moved over, and knelt down, checking the room was empty of the alien being.  
  
They were alone. for now.  
  
"Ensign, are you okay?"  
  
He opened his eyes, and immediately looked frightened. He shot up, and stared around him wide-eyed.  
  
"Where am I? Where did it go?" he asked, rambling, his voice shaky.  
  
T'Pol stood, looking Mayweather calmly in the eye, and said, "Ensign, there is nothing to be afraid of. The alien is gone, for the time being."  
  
"Have you always been this comforting?" came the quiet voice of Tucker.  
  
It was clear he was being sarcastic, so she did not respond to his comment, and instead turned her attention back on Mayweather. "I suggest you sit down, Ensign. Don't worry. nothing will harm you here."  
  
Ensign Mayweather obeyed, seating himself slowly down on the floor, and looking at T'Pol as she too lowered to the ground.  
  
"Where is here?"  
  
"We are not sure. I am confident we are still aboard Enterprise," she told him.  
  
"How can you tell? We could be light-years away by now. on some alien vessel," he said, his voice once again showing his panic.  
  
"Don't worry, Travis, I walked here. we're definitely still on the ship," Commander Tucker put in, closing his eyes once again, and not opening them again.  
  
"Commander?" T'Pol moved closer to him, and touched his arm lightly. His eyes opened.  
  
"What?" he asked, as if he thought she had wanted to tell him something.  
  
"Remember what I told you about going to sleep. It is not advisable. Try to remain conscious," she replied, looking him in the eye, and noting just how exhausted he really looked. It seemed she had underestimated how much injury he had suffered. She was now afraid of internal bleeding.  
  
He nodded dreamily, and sighed a heavy sigh, and then winced, holding his hand to his side.  
  
"What's wrong with the Commander?" Mayweather asked, clearly having calmed himself to a suitable degree.  
  
"I believe he has cracked or broken one or more of his ribs. he may have internal bleeding."  
  
"What?" Tucker exclaimed, hissing through his teeth as if in pain as he tried to sit up straighter, "You never said anything about that before."  
  
"Do not become aggravated, Commander. You could harm yourself further," she insisted, raising her eyebrows at him.  
  
As he leant back against the wall, she heard him mumble, "Any chance to take command."  
  
She ignored it, and glanced down at Lieutenant Reed, who was still unconscious. She hoped he woke up soon.  
  
* * *  
  
He heard the quiet talking of figures all around him, and wondered whether they were human or alien. friend or foe. He wasn't sure whether opening his eyes would bring comfort or further worry.  
  
He couldn't really remember much from what had happened to him, just that something had attacked him, and now there was a blinding pain in his head. He thought his hair felt damp, sticky, but without moving, he couldn't be certain.  
  
When someone spoke slowly, and loudly near him, he recognised that voice as Travis Mayweather, and he realised that opening his eyes was not a bad idea.  
  
Slowly, he did open his eyes, and it was clear that they weren't in sickbay, or anywhere else comforting. The room was dark, dank, and unfamiliar. There was an air about the room, one that made Malcolm Reed a little frightened.  
  
"Lieutenant?" he heard a voice he recognised as Sub-Commander T'Pol say.  
  
He rolled over onto his back, and confirmed his suspicions of blood on the side of his head by touching his fingers to the wound gently. He winced at the pain.  
  
He wasn't sure how bad the injury was, but he knew that Phlox should take a look at it, wherever the Doctor was at this moment in time. or rather, wherever they were. He didn't even know if Doctor Phlox was anywhere nearby.  
  
"Where are we?" he asked, his voice hoarse, as though he had been shouting for hours, non-stop. He then realised how thirsty he actually was.  
  
"On Enterprise," someone said, and the voice was quiet, the words mumbled. It was Commander Tucker. he was sure of it.  
  
Glancing overhead at someone leaning against the wall, a look of discomfort on his face, was Commander Tucker, his hand held to his side.  
  
"Are you okay?" came another female voice, and he glanced over at a woman who was less than familiar to him. Matheson, he guessed. He felt guilty now for not knowing who she was. he remembered seeing her in the mess hall a few times, and even talking to her once.  
  
"Wouldn't mind visiting sickbay," he replied, touching his head again, bringing his fingertips away covered in sticky blood. He sighed.  
  
"You have suffered a blow to the head, Lieutenant. You may have a concussion. Try to remain still," T'Pol warned him, always eager to give orders in one way or another.  
  
If the situation had not been so dire, Reed would have smiled. 


	17. Animal Instincts

CHAPTER 17;  
  
ANIMAL INSTINCTS  
  
  
  
Jonathan Archer tried to ignore the beagle pacing along with him on the bridge, and turned to Hoshi. She had her eyes turned downwards; concentrating hard on the task he had set to her. She was trying to find unfamiliar noises throughout the ship, her trademark earpiece in firmly, concentration levels through the roof. He hated to disturb her, but he needed an update.  
  
"Hoshi? Have you got anything?"  
  
She looked to him, and her head was tilted slightly to one side, mainly to the left, where the earpiece was situated, as though she were listening harder than normal to try and hear something in particular.  
  
"I'm not sure, sir," she replied, and her voice showed her distraction, "I think I hear something on G-deck, but I'm not sure. It could just be ventilation. or something like that."  
  
He moved over, his hands resting on the handrail, his knuckles turning white, telling him he was gripping just a little too hard. He released his grip slightly, and looked her in the eye, eager for answers and clues. "What? What is it?"  
  
She moistened her lips, and continued, "It sounds like. like whispering. Sort of like hushed voices, but a lot quieter. Like they're far away." Her brow was knitted, and she shook her head slightly. Her confusion equalled that of the Captain, and he wasn't even the one with the earpiece.  
  
"Can you localise it?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Can you determine exactly where it is?" he asked, Porthos wagging his tail at his feet. He ignored the small dog, and waited for a reply.  
  
Hoshi shook her head again in the slightest fashion. "I'm not positive, but I think it's port side, near aft."  
  
He allowed his own brow to furrow this time, and he glanced over his shoulder at the tactical station, where Ensign Bellamy sat, in the place of Lieutenant Reed. Crewman Falmer replaced Ensign Mayweather, and Ensign Markham sat at the science station, replacing T'Pol. With that, he nodded at Hoshi, and walked over to his chair.  
  
Porthos followed, but suddenly, his tail dropped, and his head lowered, a menacing growl escaping his throat. His jowls curled upwards, displaying his teeth, and his eyes were focused on a point close to the turbolift.  
  
Archer looked between the point and the dog, and he asked, "What is it, boy? What's wrong?"  
  
The dog barked loudly, over and over again, and Hoshi winced. She pressed her earpiece into her ear further, and she looked at the point, and removed the device, staring fixatedly at the point Porthos was aggravated by.  
  
"Captain, could you get him to be quiet?" she asked, her voice quieter for some reason, as though a deer had wandered onto the bridge, and she was afraid of startling it.  
  
Archer nodded, intrigued by his comm officer's interest, and he bent down and picked up his pet, hushing it with a few soothing words. The growl remained, rumbling in the dog's throat, but quieter.  
  
Hoshi's eyes narrowed, and then her head turned swiftly to the Captain, and she said, "There's something there, I don't know what it is, but I can hear it. it's like voices, almost like a crowd, but very quiet, and kind of melancholy."  
  
Archer frowned in confusion, and said, "Where exactly?"  
  
But before Hoshi could reply, she screamed, and struck out at something that wasn't there, a point in the air that was terrifying to her, and Archer recognised the behaviour from his Commander.  
  
"Markham! Calm her down!" Archer ordered, and the Ensign moved from the science station over to Hoshi, and started trying to calm her down, with some success. Hoshi's eyes were wide, startled, like a rabbit in headlights.  
  
Archer let Porthos leap down from his lap, and said to the dog in a quiet voice, "Where is it, boy. find it."  
  
Porthos sniffed the air with his powerful nose, and then barked loudly twice, directly at the turbolift.  
  
"Stay here! I'm going to follow this thing. it has to be a life form of some kind. Porthos can track it." Archer followed his dog to the turbolift, and opened the door.  
  
All the while, Porthos kept the growling up, the sound becoming louder, and more threatening, as though he had run smack into some other dog he didn't like on his territory, and he were trying to protect that territory with ferocity.  
  
"Keep it up, Porthos. I just hope your sense of smell holds up to G- deck, port side, aft," Archer mumbled. He watched the dog's body language, and sure enough, the hackles along the dog's spine rose up, giving the small animal a spiky appearance, which was a little comical, but also very menacing.  
  
Porthos let out a loud bark, and Archer stopped the turbolift, opening the doors, watching as the dog trotted out, sniffing this way and that. After a moment, he took off at a run, satisfying the beagle's need for the hunt. He had a scent, and the dedicated little animal was determined to follow it, just so long as he could earn his supper, and please his master.  
  
Archer followed as well as he could, pursuing the dog's barking more than his form, considering the little animal could run a hell of a lot faster than he could.  
  
He took a brief stop, and pressed the comm button on the wall, "Doctor Phlox, could you meet me on G-deck, port side, aft. and bring a med kit. thank you."  
  
Archer took off at a brisk pace after the dog again, who had slowed down a little, and was taking to smelling the air again. He let out a low howl, and bolted down another corridor adjacent to the one Archer was in. Archer followed again, hoping the animal wasn't going to have to go much farther.  
  
After a few more intense minutes of running and smelling the air, and one more turbolift ride, Porthos had come to a stop. on G-deck. port side, aft. He seemed to have lost the scent, and was pining loudly, his tail low, his head to the ground, his nose tracking this way and that, searching for what he had obviously lost.  
  
Archer heard the jogging footsteps, and he whirled, seeing Doctor Phlox running to join them, with a med kit firmly in his hands.  
  
"Glad you could join us, Doctor," Archer panted, taking a deep breath in, and turning his gaze on his pet again, frowning as no evidence of picking up the scent showed.  
  
"What is this all about, Captain?" Phlox was curious to know, and he too turned his attention on the animal, cocking his head slightly to one side.  
  
"I think we've located the missing crew, but Porthos lost the scent of the life form he was tracking."  
  
"A life form? Most interesting."  
  
"Yes, and most helpful, or so I'd like to think. I bet this has something to do with my crew disappearing, and with any luck, they're around here somewhere."  
  
Phlox raised a wispy eyebrow. "But Captain, I was led to believe the internal sensors had not picked up any sign of the missing crewmembers."  
  
Archer nodded, keeping an eye on the dog. "Yes, that's true, but from what I just saw of Hoshi's behaviour up on the bridge, I have reason to believe that this life form has some psychic capability."  
  
Phlox seemed fascinated, and took it upon himself to just shut up and watch, until his skills as a physician were required.  
  
Porthos was sniffing at a particular bulkhead, and he cocked his small head this way and that, frantically trying to fathom something, or so it would seem.  
  
Archer crouched to Porthos', and said, "What is it boy? Have you found something?" He looked up at the bulkhead, and he narrowed his eyes.  
  
Why was this bulkhead so blank, so unmarred? There was absolutely no mark on it, as though it. as though it had just been put in.  
  
"Wait a minute," he mumbled. He studied the wall intently, his eyes scanning it critically, searching for something, anything to validate his suspicions.  
  
"Captain?" Phlox queried, looking down at the commanding officer.  
  
"This wall. it was never here. I've never seen it before, and there's absolutely nothing on this wall. No comm link, no supports, no nothing." He looked back at the Doctor, a look of certainty on his face. "This wall isn't real."  
  
"Are you telling me this wall is some kind of illusion, Captain?" Phlox asked, walking over closer to the wall, and taking a look for himself.  
  
"That's exactly what I'm saying." Archer stood, giving the dog a grateful scratch behind the ear, and a pat on he flank. He took a deep breath in, and reached out to touch the wall, his fingers coming closer and closer to the non-existent bulkhead.  
  
Sure enough, as his fingers brushed against the surface, he felt a strange sensation sweep over him, much akin to that of a cold fog floating around him, and he pressed harder, his fingers passing straight through the surface.  
  
He looked back at the Doctor, and it was clear the Denobulan had never quite seen anything like this in his life. He blinked once, and watched as Archer began to walk completely through the wall.  
  
Porthos, with a pine, holding his head up high, trotted on through after his master, determined to stick right by his side, and not fail him, even if the situation was frightening to him.  
  
With a sigh, and a thought about why humans were so damn curious, Phlox followed on through the wall. 


	18. A Close Encounter

CHAPTER 18;  
  
A CLOSE ENCOUNTER  
  
  
  
Travis Mayweather looked around, calmer now, at the rest of the captive crew, and swallowed dryly, wondering what was going to happen to them now, and how they were going to escape from this place. T'Pol had claimed that this dark, and dismal unfamiliar place was nothing but an illusional play on the area they were actually being imprisoned in, but Travis didn't know what to think.  
  
Commander Tucker was wavering in and out of consciousness, and T'Pol was keeping a close eye on him, and it even looked as though concern was marring her Vulcan features. Mayweather hadn't known it was possible for emotion to show on Vulcans. now he knew otherwise.  
  
Matheson was sitting close to Mayweather, playing with the cuffs on her dirty sleeve, and sniffing occasionally, betraying the fact that she was more frightened than she let on. She seemed to be dealing with this bizarre situation quite well though, considering she had been here the longest.  
  
Malcolm Reed sat slumped up against the wall the other side of Travis, wincing at the pain in the side of his head, where he was bleeding. It seemed that the bleeding had stopped now though, which was a good sign that he wasn't too badly injured after all.  
  
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm really starting to hate this place," Trip mumbled, shifting slightly, hand held to his side. "How 'bout we try and find a way out?"  
  
Everyone turned their gaze upon the Commander, and then to one another. He had a point. they weren't accomplishing anything by just sitting around, waiting for a rescue from Archer and the others. they had to try and figure it out for themselves.  
  
Before she could make one of her typical Vulcan objections, T'Pol's head turned to face the other side of the room, and she stood, edging back towards the wall.  
  
Everyone looked to where her eyes were fixated, and Travis immediately shot off of the floor. Reed edged up, and his blue eyes went wide. Matheson just tried to curl up into a smaller ball than she had already accomplished, her head covered by her arms. Trip immediately regained complete consciousness, and his jaw dropped open in horror.  
  
Standing on the other side of the hauntingly dark room, crouched low under the shallow ceiling, head turned their way, was what had to be an alien of some description. It was grey in colour, its skin bearing a faint resemblance to the cold metal of the ship. It had a long, almost oblong shaped head, which was absent of anything resembling eyes. The cranium was large, suggesting an equally large brain, if in fact it actually had one to speak of. Stretching from the back of the alien's head was a powerful crest, thick and darker in shade than the rest of the body. Whether or not the crest had a use was beyond Travis' knowledge.  
  
Perhaps this alien had psychic abilities just as Sub-Commander T'Pol had originally thought.  
  
It had thin forearms with gripping hands on the ends, needle-like claws on the end of each of its three 'fingers', and something that substituted as a thumb. Powerful, trunk-like hind legs supported the bulk of its massive body, doubled up, almost like the legs of a kangaroo, with what looked like two knees on each leg. The feet on the ends of these gigantic hind legs resembled a dinosaur's in appearance, with huge claws that seemed able to gouge huge holes in the very floor they stood upon. A spinal ridge ran all the way from the base of its short neck, to the tip of its long, curled tail, where something similar to a stinger loomed, ready to strike. All in all, the alien appeared to be at least fourteen feet in height. crouched down the way it was, anyway.  
  
Mayweather felt a wash of terror course through him, and he wanted to succumb to the darkness that had enveloped him when the terrifying predator had leapt onto him in the corridor, leading to his imprisonment here.  
  
With a firm shake of the head, he reminded himself of his duty as a Starfleet officer. to explore new worlds and new civilizations, and he couldn't do a hell of a lot of exploring if he passed out. even if it was very tempting indeed.  
  
He looked to his left at Reed, who was staring at the alien, seemingly sizing it up, probably devising a way they could 'take it down'. Clearly Malcolm wanted to dispose of the alien, as he usually did with hostiles. and this being was most definitely not your standard friendly neighbour.  
  
Travis glanced beyond Reed to T'Pol, who looked as though she was straining, concentrating very hard on something, almost to the point of collapse. Her knees looked about ready to give.  
  
What is she doing? The thought disturbed Travis' study of the others surrounding him, and when he again looked back to the towering alien, it was looking right at the Vulcan science officer. well, it had its long head turned in her direction anyway. How could something with no eyes look at someone?  
  
With a frown, it occurred to Travis that the alien shouldn't even have been able to locate T'Pol without the use of eyes, when he noticed the presence of small nostrils, close to its mouth, where several layers of tiny, razor sharp teeth sat, ready to tear into whatever it got its hands on. There were no ears that Travis could tell, but still, it had to be that the being could hear and smell T'Pol if it was looking at her.  
  
There was a noise to the far left of Travis, and when he looked, he saw Trip pushing himself up to standing height, obviously in quite a lot of pain.  
  
"What the hell is that thing?" Trip said, quiet enough so that he hoped the being couldn't hear him, which it obviously did, because the head turned to him, and a low hiss, like that of an angry feline escaped its mouth. Clearly, it was not impressed with Trip's interruption.  
  
T'Pol let out a sudden breath, and slumped visibly, exhausted somehow, even though she had not moved from that spot since standing originally.  
  
Reed caught her before she fell completely to the floor, and asked, "What's wrong?"  
  
"The alien. the psychic energies. it is overwhelming," T'Pol told him, and she held her head as though it was throbbing.  
  
Mayweather looked back to the alien, and it turned to look at him, the hiss rising up again, sending a chill down the Ensign's spine, causing him to shudder violently.  
  
He clamped his eyes shut, and opened them again, standing up straight and tall putting on a brave face.  
  
The alien started to edge forward on all fours, creeping towards them, looking between its five captives, as if trying to decide who it would pick first for whatever it was eventually planning to do with them.  
  
Reed let T'Pol stand on her own, as her strength had apparently returned, and stared long and hard at the alien.  
  
The alien stared right back.  
  
"If we can get past it, there might be a door on the other side," Reed said, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the alien menace that was still creeping towards them.  
  
Trip looked towards the Lieutenant, and he cocked his head. "You're kiddin', right?"  
  
Reed just shook his head.  
  
Mayweather swallowed the lump in his throat.  
  
"We would need some kind of distraction, Lieutenant, and clearly, we do not have anything that would fall into that category," T'Pol stated, her voice calm and level as always. Her emotions were safely locked away once again.  
  
Reed smiled, that same crafty smile he always got when the Lieutenant got a plan in his mind, whether it was plausible or completely idiotic. If he was planning what Mayweather thought he was planning, then this clearly fell into the idiotic category.  
  
T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "That would not be wise, Lieutenant. This alien's reflexes may be much quicker than what you assume, and you could be killed."  
  
He looked away from the alien, and to the Vulcan. "Considering the alternative, Sub-Commander, I think it's worth the risk."  
  
"Well I sure as hell don't!" Trip said loudly, cringing afterwards, and risking a glance at the alien, who made that low, menacing hissing noise again.  
  
Reed and Trip stared at each other for a moment, before Reed started off at a run, directly in front of the alien.  
  
"Malcolm!" Trip shouted, taking a step forwards, holding a hand to his side again, and wincing at the pain he felt there.  
  
T'Pol took a deep breath in, and announced, "We must move quickly if Lieutenant Reed has any chance of escaping the alien before we pass it."  
  
Mayweather helped Matheson off the ground, and the two started to jog quickly around the alien, taking a wide berth of the frightening life form.  
  
It didn't even notice them. it seemed more concerned with Lieutenant Reed as he darted this way and that, providing an adequate distraction for the alien.  
  
It let out a roar at him, and swiped with one of the long thin arms. He ducked and rolled under it, the rush of air from the swipe causing his tousled hair to blow about momentarily. He quickly stood, and started running the other way.  
  
T'Pol started helping Trip around the other side of the alien from where Travis and Matheson had run, but Trip's eyes were constantly focusing on Malcolm and the alien.  
  
"Malcolm, look out!" he yelled, as one of the huge arms shot out towards the man.  
  
It hit Malcolm hard, knocking him down. Without a moment's hesitation, the alien proceeded to loom over him, even as he tried to edge away. Its hand clasped around his throat, lifting him clean off the ground, at least ten feet in the air. He started to choke, and he frantically tried to kick out at the alien.  
  
Trip pulled himself out of T'Pol's grasp, and ran towards the alien, intending on helping Reed.  
  
The alien turned its huge head, and roared loudly at him, almost blowing him over, or so it seemed. The free arm swung in a great arc, smashing right into Trip, knocking him across the room. He slammed against the far wall, and fell to the floor, completely unconscious.  
  
Mayweather watched in horror at the scene playing out before him, and he heard Matheson whimper at his side, clutching to him for comfort. She buried her head into his shoulder, and he held onto her, trying to provide her with some sense of safety.  
  
Malcolm winced at the tightness of the grip the alien had on him, and tried to pull it off of his neck with his own hands, failing miserably in the attempt. But still, he latched onto its arm firmly, intent on breaking free. He was visibly choking violently, and Travis was terrified his friend would suffocate.  
  
Stepping backwards, spotting T'Pol checking on the fallen form of the Commander across the room, noticing her checking for his pulse, he bumped into something solid. He turned quickly, expecting to find another alien, but instead making out the form of a crate of some kind.  
  
We're in a cargo hold!  
  
His jaw dropped, and he released Matheson, throwing the lid off the container, managing to make out the shapes within. It had to be something like bottles, and even what looked to be small boxes of equipment. He immediately removed one of the bottles, and, hoping his throwing arm was what it used to be, hurled the object as hard as he could towards the alien.  
  
The bottle smashed against the hind leg of the alien, and it screeched loudly, turning its head their way. Matheson let out a frightened noise that resembled a squeak.  
  
"Come on, help me!" Travis told her sternly, and she quickly picked something out of the box, and threw it towards the menace. It hit the being square on the side, with a rather loud thud.  
  
It turned to face them completely, turning its massive bulk, Malcolm and all, who was on the verge on passing out from oxygen deprivation.  
  
Travis and Matheson continued to hurl objects like mad towards the alien, even as it neared them, striking it anywhere they could, trying to avoid hitting the very man they were trying to save.  
  
Above the din of the smashing of bottles, and the crashing of whatever they were throwing, Mayweather could make out something very similar to the barking of a dog from outside.  
  
The cavalry had arrived. 


	19. Unexpected Heroism

CHAPTER 19;  
  
UNEXPECTED HEROISM  
  
  
  
Jonathan Archer could hear what had to be smashing and objects breaking from inside, as well as shouting, and something that sounded too much like roaring to be something other than the life form Porthos had tracked all the way here. Sure enough, after having passed through the fake wall, a perfectly normal corridor, leading towards a cargo hold was revealed, and they had followed Porthos' nose all the way down to this point, where Archer was typing in a code to open the locked door.  
  
Phlox stood to his side, looking rather confused, and amazed at the noises coming from inside the locked room. His medical kit was held firmly in his hands, his knuckles seemingly turning white from the amount of pressure he was applying to his grip. Was the Denobulan scared? Did Denobulans get scared?  
  
"C'mon!" he shouted at the door, as though demanding progress would make the inanimate object provide it.  
  
To his surprise, the door flew open, and Archer's eyes immediately widened at the scene displayed before him. He quickly retrieved his phase pistol, having had it attached firmly to his hip ever since Travis had disappeared, not feeling safe without it.  
  
He could see T'Pol leaning protectively over an unconscious form, one that he soon made out to be Trip. Even in the darkness, he could tell that it was his Commander.  
  
On the opposite side of the room, Ensign Mayweather and Crewman Matheson were madly hurling objects at a huge, intimidating alien that walked slowly towards them, even as objects shattered against its gigantic mass.  
  
And in the tight grip of one of the alien's forearms was Lieutenant Reed, visibly choking, fighting for air, desperately trying to remain conscious. Remarkably, Travis and Matheson avoided hitting the man.  
  
Porthos immediately lunged for the alien, latching with sharp teeth onto the alien's large leg, growling, even through clamped jaws. It tugged on the alien's leg, and Archer could see red blood ooze from the wound his small dog inflicted.  
  
The alien roared in pain, and tried to remove the beagle from its body by shaking its leg. Defiantly, Porthos remained firmly attached, as though the dog were trying to save Malcolm from the life form's clutches.  
  
"Captain!" Phlox called to him, as Archer levelled his weapon with the alien's body, ready to fire, wondering whether stun would work on such a large being, even at the highest setting.  
  
Archer turned his head towards the Denobulan, and listened as he shouted, "I wouldn't advise firing on the life form whilst Lieutenant Reed is in its grip, you could cause him further harm!"  
  
Archer cursed lightly under his breath, and fumbled with the weapon, wondering what he could do now.  
  
He watched his physician move over to T'Pol and Trip, and the Doctor immediately checked his Engineer's pulse, letting out a sigh of relief.  
  
At least Trip was alive.  
  
* * *  
  
Malcolm, even over the sound of his own choking, and the smashing of bottles, on top of the roaring of the alien, had managed to hear Doctor Phlox's warning to Archer, and he decided that it was up to him to free up a shot for his Captain.  
  
Mustering the remainder of his waning strength, he managed to swing his body forward at the alien's head, which was reasonably close to the Lieutenant, bringing his feet up, and slamming his boots straight into the alien's large face with a shocking amount of force. He heard something crunch.  
  
With a squeal, the alien immediately released Malcolm, and shook its head, even as blood trickled from its nostrils.  
  
Malcolm fell to the floor, hard, landing awkwardly on his side, and giving a cry as he felt something in his right arm give way painfully.  
  
"Malcolm!" he heard Travis yell, even as the room began to spin. He shook his head violently, hoping his vision would clear enough for him to stand again without falling straight back down again.  
  
Matheson continued to hurl random objects, as Travis ran over to Malcolm. His vision had successfully cleared up enough for the Lieutenant to scramble off of the floor, and away from the enraged alien.  
  
"You okay?" Travis asked, moving with him to stand near Matheson, who was proving to have quite an accurate aim, and a powerful throwing arm.  
  
Malcolm nodded. "I think I may have broken my arm when I landed. I wasn't expecting the bastard to let go as quickly as he did."  
  
Travis smiled, obviously glad to see his friend okay.  
  
* * *  
  
Archer watched as Malcolm landed, and he knew that his tactical officer had taken damage when he heard the pained cry he let out. Ensign Mayweather immediately helped him away from the alien, and Archer took aim with his phase pistol once again, firing, hitting the alien square in the shoulder.  
  
It let out a frenzied roar, and whirled on Archer, lunging at him with a hind leg, like a fighting kangaroo from the old cartoons Jon had watched as a child. Luckily, the leg was absent of a beagle, who was still clinging frantically to the other leg with his teeth.  
  
Before the Captain could move out of the way enough to avoid the blow, it slammed into him, knocking him backwards, and clean out of the door once again.  
  
He remembered nothing further.  
  
* * *  
  
He opened his eyes, and immediately let out a pained sound, attempting to push himself off of the ground.  
  
He had had enough of being unconscious for one week. It was time for him to do something constructive.  
  
Trip looked to his sides at the concerned faces of T'Pol and Phlox, and that was when he felt the pain in his head, on top of the burning in his side. Holding a hand to the area, he succeeded in locating a rather worrying head injury, one that proceeded to bleed. His temple was soaked, but even through the haze of agony, he stood from the ground, despite the attempts of the Vulcan and the Denobulan to keep him stationary.  
  
Out of the open door, he could see Jonathan Archer lying on his back, eyes closed, dropped phase pistol close near his hand.  
  
Across the room stood Matheson and Travis, hurling objects of all shapes and sizes at the alien, who was apparently becoming rather aggravated by the attempt to distract it. And to the side of Travis stood a freed Malcolm, who was now cradling his right arm, and leaning against a container, eyes closed tight.  
  
On top of all this chaos, Trip could see Porthos latched firmly onto the alien's hind leg, and causing quite a lot of damage in the attempt.  
  
Without a second thought, Trip ran out of the door, hell-bent on getting to Jon before the alien did. It was almost to the door now, lowering itself to the ground to try and fit through the opening.  
  
Passing by the alien, hoping beyond hope that it wouldn't notice him in time, he skidded through the doorway, sliding to a halt beside Jon, taking a firm grip on the phase pistol that his Captain had obviously dropped. He quickly heard the little beagle running up beside him, having released the alien.  
  
As quickly as he could manage, Trip switched the phase pistol to 'kill', more than a little pissed off with this alien S.O.B. now. He didn't care if he killed it. It was either that, or it killed all of them instead.  
  
He hurriedly took aim, and pulled the trigger, watching as the energy struck the alien full on in the chest.  
  
The blast was enough to knock the being back through the doorway. The wail that escaped its throat was enough to give anyone a chill, and for a moment, it simply looked in Trip's general direction, as if wondering what it had done wrong to deserve such treatment.  
  
Trip looked back at the eyeless being, and it suddenly occurred to him that it may have been unnecessary to kill the being. maybe it wasn't intending to kill them.  
  
After a few moments that seemed to stretch on for hours, the gigantic bulk of the alien crashed completely to the floor.  
  
Porthos trotted up to the alien, and sniffed at its head, which was far larger than the small dog. The beagle let out a pine, and cocked his head.  
  
Trip dropped the weapon, and reached out to feel for Jon's pulse, locating one quickly. He let out a thankful sigh, and wavered, the pain increasing with each passing second.  
  
Phlox, T'Pol, and the others emerged from the dark cargo hold, and looked down warily at the prone form of the fallen alien, and then to Trip.  
  
He looked T'Pol in the eye, and then hissed in pain, holding a hand to his side.  
  
"If there are no objections, I would like you all to report to sickbay," Phlox said, and moved over to Trip, who sat beside Archer.  
  
"Do you feel as though you can walk?"  
  
Almost as if in reply, Trip passed out, falling to the ground near to Archer. 


	20. Recuperation

CHAPTER 20;  
  
RECUPERATIONS  
  
  
  
The sickbay seemed like a heavenly place after their captivity, and as Malcolm Reed looked around, he smiled a slight smile. He was glad to be out of that place, even though he had been in there dozens of times before, considering it was merely a cargo bay. But the darkness and cold that the alien had created sent a shudder through Reed, and he glanced across the room to the others.  
  
Mayweather and Matheson had been released a short while ago, told to return to their quarters. They were not hurt badly, just shaken.  
  
Captain Archer sat on the end of a bed, like Reed, wincing at an apparent pain in his back, and what Doctor Phlox had told him was two bruised ribs from the blow the alien had delivered.  
  
Porthos sat on the floor at the Captain's feet, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, as if in a grin.  
  
Sub-Commander T'Pol stood near to Archer, her hands behind her back loosely, one eyebrow raised. She had sustained no injury either, and for that, Reed was envious.  
  
He had his arm in a sling, and had been told to come back to the sickbay the next day for more treatment. Apparently it would not take long for the bone to mend, and Reed thanked his lucky stars for that. On top of that, he had a slight concussion, which proceeded to make his head ache a considerable amount. The damage could have been a lot worse though, considering.  
  
Commander Tucker, on the other hand, hadn't gotten off as lucky. He had two broken ribs; one bruised rib; some internal bleeding -which Phlox had managed to stop-; and a rather nasty blow to the head. He lay on a bed beneath a screen, and, as he had been since defeating the alien, was unconscious.  
  
Phlox was a little worried about Trip's injuries, but he claimed that he should be fine with some rest. a couple of weeks at the least.  
  
Reed hopped off the bed carefully, and walked over, looking to the Captain.  
  
"We should get back to the cargo bay. see what happened to the alien. I wanna know if it's still alive," Archer said, and Reed agreed with a silent nod. He was curious to know whether or not the damn thing still posed a threat.  
  
T'Pol tilted her head slightly to the right, and said in a calm, smooth voice, "I do not advise returning to that area of the ship, Captain. If the alien is indeed still alive, it could attack without provocation."  
  
"It already did, T'Pol."  
  
"It was not attacking us, Captain. Whilst in momentary connection with the alien, I learned that it needs powerful psychic energies to survive, such as fear, anger or joy. Fear seems to be the best provider, and so, the alien called on our fears to sustain itself whilst aboard Enterprise."  
  
Reed looked to Captain Archer for a response, and as usual, the Captain didn't disappoint.  
  
"There was no reason to do what it did. If it had made contact, we could have made some sort of arrangement."  
  
"And how would you have done this? Scared each other with your human pranks until the alien felt it had had enough, and simply left?"  
  
Archer glared at T'Pol, and the look on his face said everything. He was not in the mood for Vulcan cynicism.  
  
"How did it get aboard in the first place?" Archer looked to Reed this time, and the Lieutenant felt as though he were being put under a spotlight.  
  
He quickly responded though, "I'm not sure, sir, but it could have been any number of ways. It could have crept aboard one of the pods whilst we on an away mission; an alien ship could have smuggled it aboard, or the alien could have travelled from one to the other; it could have been from the cargo itself; or its capable of living in space, and entered the ship whilst we were travelling ourselves." He shrugged.  
  
Archer nodded, and sighed. With so many variables, it would be difficult to track down the source of the alien invader.  
  
The Captain stood from the bed, casting a momentary glance over at Trip, and left the room, followed by Reed and T'Pol.  
  
* * *  
  
Archer stopped dead in his tracks when he got to the cargo bay, his jaw dropping open, and his heart skipping a beat from the shock.  
  
It was gone.  
  
There was nothing left. apart from a few dots of blood that had dripped from the alien's nose when Reed had slammed his boot into it. That was all that remained. there was no tracks, no point of exit, no sign of the alien creature at all.  
  
Beside him, T'Pol raised an eyebrow, and Reed looked more confused than Archer had ever seen the British man.  
  
"What happened to it?" he asked no one in particular, but as usual, T'Pol replied.  
  
"I believe the creature survived Commander Tucker's phase pistol shot, and whilst we were in sickbay, made its escape, probably fearing its own demise at our hands."  
  
Archer looked to her. "Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?"  
  
Again, she raised a single eyebrow.  
  
Porthos started sniffing around, and after a few moments, returned to stand beside Archer, not a noise escaping from the beagle. Surely enough, the creature was gone, but where it had disappeared to was a mystery to Archer.  
  
Reed took a glance into the now normally lit room, and shook his head. "I can't see any sign of it, sir."  
  
"Dammit," Archer mumbled, realising he had missed out on yet another first contact. well, almost.  
  
* * *  
  
With an aching head, and an incredibly sore body, Trip woke, looking up through squinted eyes at the lights of sickbay, or what he assumed was sickbay anyway.  
  
He was alone, from what he could figure. Phlox must have gone off to eat, or rest.  
  
As his eyes opened fully, he remembered just what had transpired for him to be so sore, and he held a hand to his head, suddenly slightly wary of the silence surrounding him.  
  
Just then, bringing him some comfort in the form of company, Jonathan Archer walked through the door, Porthos at his feet.  
  
Trip tried to sit up, but Jon held up a hand.  
  
"I'd lie still if I were you. Phlox repaired your internal bleeding, but you still have your broken ribs to worry about," Jon told him, and gave him a wan smile.  
  
Trip sighed. It looked as though some more time off was in order. He would be bored out of his mind. maybe he could read one of Jon's books.  
  
He looked suddenly to Jon, and regretted the swiftness of his action afterwards, as his head throbbed. "What happened to the alien? Is it dead?"  
  
Jon hesitated, and then shook his head. "It's not dead, Trip."  
  
"Then where is it?" He started looking around slowly, expecting the alien to appear out of the shadows, and attack. He shuddered.  
  
"We. we don't know."  
  
That comment earned Jon a look, one of sheer confusion. "What? How could you lose track of a fourteen foot alien?"  
  
"It must have slipped away while we were in here somehow. I'm still trying to figure out how it got out of the ship, and back to wherever it came from," Jon told Trip, and the Commander let out another sigh.  
  
"Did you manage to figure out what it wanted?"  
  
Jon brightened slightly at this inquiry, and he launched into an explanation, "From what T'Pol tells me, it was here to. to feed on our fear, or something similar. She said it needs powerful psychic energies -like the ones generated by fear, anger and joy- to survive. That's why it was here. it manifested our fears, and benefited from them."  
  
Trip closed his eyes against the harshness of the sickbay lights for a moment, and tried to fathom what his friend had just told him.  
  
"You're tellin' me that it scared the hell outta us just to keep on livin'?"  
  
"Something like that, yeah. T'Pol can explain it better," Jon said with a shrug.  
  
Trip let himself smile. "I'm sure she can."  
  
Jon laughed, and reached down to pick up Porthos, who seemed happy to see Trip awake again, as he let out a little excited bark.  
  
Trip laughed, and held a hand to his side, reaching out with the other to pet the little animal.  
  
As he and Jon conversed in sickbay, Trip realised that that terrifying alien must still be out there somewhere, hunting for the energies it needed. the fear it desired.  
  
Somewhere out there, it was still stalking in the shadows. 


End file.
